


This Moment Never Dies

by imperfectkreis



Series: binary sea [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canonical Character Death, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Robots, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Robert travel to Far Harbor. There is no way this could possibly go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rhythm of This Song is All Wrong for your Leaden Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for no more than the first 10 minutes (honestly discernible from the trailer).

Fingertips down each bone of his spine. Click, click click. Like gears on a pocket watch falling into place. MacCready gave Nick a watch like that, this morning. Nick asked why. 

“For your birthday.”

“I don't have a birthday. Not really.”

“I know.”

But MacCready knows more than that. Nick does too, even if he doesn't let on. One of the files MacCready saw, pilfered from the Quincy Police Station, said “Nikolai Valentine. D.O.B., 16 March, 2035,” so MacCready picks a different date. Twenty-fourth of March, 2288. That becomes the day Nick turns forty-two for the two-hundredth and eleventh time. Something like that.

MacCready turns twenty-three on May third. He tries not to think about it, even if he knows.

Nick’s fingers trace down his back, and with each depression of aging silicone against his skin, MacCready wants for more. He's not about to look desperate, not in a million years. But he's ready to move forward, leave the holding pattern, get this show on the road. Metaphor, metaphor, sensation would be so much prettier than words, but MacCready’s got neither.

Then again, this is supposed to be Nick’s birthday, so if he wants to spend it ruining MacCready’s patience instead of ruining the Rexford’s bed springs, well, that's up to him. But when Nick’s fingers skim over MacCready’s tailbone, ghosting so close to the curve of his ass, he can't help but pull his hips up off the mattress, following the unrelenting heat of Nick’s assemblage.

Sitting back on his heels, Nick laughs at his own private joke. MacCready turns his head against the pillow, cheek pressed flat to the off-white pillow case.

But the sheets smell a little of powdery silicon, a little of ash, and a little bit of the strangers who have been here before. 

Leaning forward, Nick puts his dry lips against MacCready’s spine next. They give a little under the pressure of teeth, but not too much. Nick shifts out of MacCready’s line of vision, spreading MacCready’s thighs as he moves. Finally. MacCready helps him along, parting his legs.

Nick settles in between MacCready’s legs, hoisting him up by his hips so his ass is in the air, his cheek still against the mattress. MacCready closes his eyes, because there isn't much to see with Nick behind him. But he can feel the scrape of Nick’s exposed metal hand along the inside of his exposed thigh. He can feel the warm give of Nick’s other hand as it trails, then its absence as it leaves. And all around him, the throbbing heat of a damaged body. Two, two damaged bodies, he reminds himself. He's always in just as many pieces. Ruptures everywhere.

As Nick drapes his body over MacCready’s, he slides slickened fingers inside, long, terribly deformed as he comes apart. They're stained with tobacco and time. Against his back, MacCready can feel Nick's skin, but feel his not-skin too. The patch where nothing but steel and rubber tubes come through, a frayed edge that Curie tried to cauterize. There's nothing she can do to close the gap, but maybe now the wound won't grow.

Raking, Nick’s fingers start to move, carefully at first, as MacCready breathes through the burning, the pleasant tremor of fullness. Nick’s other hand skims as softly as he can along MacCready’s ribs, but they're both too sharp.

It's languid at first, Nick has all the time in the world, if he wants it. And MacCready swears he won't complain, even if he can't help but rock back on Nick’s fingers, against his patchwork chest. The seams feel like scars. But that's how Nick was put together, not how he comes to pieces.

Don't forget. Try and not forget.

But their amnesia goes both ways. Nick starts thrusting his hips against the heel of his hand, driving his fingers just that fraction deeper, and full integers harder. MacCready strains to keep position, to not tip too far forward, so he scrambles back instead, lifting his shoulders up off the mattress, getting onto all fours so he can really push back.

Nick’s breath doesn't hitch, because he doesn't breathe, but he chuckles, and that's almost as good.

“Enjoying the ride?” Nick teases.

“So what if I am?” MacCready can't help but smile.

“Tell me how it feels?”

“Ah, really good, Nick.” Truth be told, his head is spinning. MacCready doesn't want to focus on forming words. He snakes his hand to his cock, dropping onto one elbow to keep himself up while Nick fucks his hand into him. “Really,” Nick strikes hard, “fu- good. Really good.”

“Use your words, Robert,” Nick’s voice drops low, that's another level of stimulation MacCready just isn't equipped for right this second.

Wrapping his hand around his cock, MacCready breathes through his mouth, trying to make the sounds congeal correctly at the back of his throat. “Full, and warm. You're really warm, Nick. Everywhere.”

Forgetting himself, Nick’s metal digits dig into MacCready’s side. It's not unpleasant, the scrape and subsequent burn. It's lovely, in a way, the edge of pain that comes and fades between the pressure of otherwise blunt bodies.

“And you're, really deep. Really good.” It's not shameful to say these things. And if he were clear-headed, maybe he could make the words prettier, more coherent. Then again, maybe Nick likes the way they hover at the edge of intelligibility. How they expand and contract around the motion of their bodies.

“You look so delicious like this,” Nick says. “If only you could see the view…”

Nick thrusts again and MacCready slides his cock into the circle of his hands, the head brushing against the sheets as Nick blankets him again. While Nick is careful enough to support his own weight, MacCready still collapses forward, coming bright and sharp in trembling spurts. He falls face first into the pillow, the white looking clearer than it actually is. Maybe like stars before the War? But that's wrong, because he's been told the sky was already full of haze.

Pulling out slowly, Nick arranges MacCready before rolling to his side. MacCready turns his head first, then his body to meet him. “Hey,” MacCready smiles. He can feel the wetness against his thigh. Gross.

“Have fun?” The closeness of Nick’s eyes make them brighter than the fluorescents overhead.

“Didn't you?” MacCready runs his fingers along Nick’s neck, brushing up against his interior frame.

Don't forget.

“Always. You make the best noises.”

MacCready snorts, “I bet I say a lot of stupid things, right?”

“Maybe,” Nick admits, “Doesn't stop me from liking them, or you.”

“Well,” MacCready starts shifting, trying to trade his spot in the wet patch for Nick’s dry one. Not like Nick can feel it, moisture is too subtle to really take. “Guess I’m a lucky guy then.”

Nick gets the idea, hoisting MacCready up and over his chest to deposit him on the other side. As MacCready rolls over the top of him, he pecks at Nick’s lips before flopping down.

Bare like this, all their inner workings are exposed. Not so bad. MacCready’s gotta say, he likes this. 

\--

Curie says she needs more time to think, to experiment. She, and Amata, and Freddie, and the children, are heading South for a spell. Not all the way to the Capital, but somewhere in between. They’re looking for Liberty, she says, cryptically. 

MacCready has a hard time looking at her now. He’s used to the spherical Nurse Handy shell, pearl and sterile. But her voice is the same in her stolen body. Maybe that’s the part that is unnerving. There was another synth in this body before. Curie haunts it now.

Curie smiles and tilts her head, saying that she will miss Goodneighbor, and the Commonwealth, but she’s sure she’ll be back, with more knowledge about the world than she ever dreamed possible. She’s learning quite a great deal, even from things as simple as holding Michael when he’s fussy, or running alongside Clara as she darts away. Curie loves it. Loves everything. It’s overwhelming, yes. But so beautiful, so simple.

“And what about you, Monsieur MacCready,” she teases, “will you miss me too?”

He flushes bright on his cheeks. She reminds him…of, ”Of course, Curie.”

She kisses Nick on both cheeks first, coming up on her toes, then hunches slightly to do the same to MacCready. 

“Keep yourself safe,” Nick tips his hat to her as she disappears upstairs to meet with her friends.

Without Curie to poke around inside of Nick, they have no reason to stay at Goodneighbor, so they make the trip back to Diamond City. The weather is clear and crisp, just starting to warm. MacCready shucks his duster and Nick jokes that the rest of the Spring will just be a succession of Robert peeling away his layers, until there’s nothing but his raw-pink skin left in the summer months. 

“I’m not very pink, Nick.”

“You are when I get my hands on you.”

\--

Ellie’s mouth is pinched when they come in. She says Nick has a case.

“He was in a rush, didn’t want to stick in town,” Ellie sighs.

MacCready keeps out of their way, standing back against the wall while Nick nods at Ellie to continue. 

“His name was Kenji Nakano, and he said that he knows you, Nick. But he wouldn’t give me much more than that. Only that you should hurry, and that he lives on the North coast, he put a pin in the map.”

Nick follows her to the map on the wall, it shows a good chunk of the Eastern Seaboard, as it looked before the war. MacCready put two pins, awhile back. One where Little Lamplight is. Nick labeled it, “Bobby,” and nothing more.

Then the second pin, the farm where Duncan is recovering. That one isn’t labeled. MacCready’s too scared to leave its position out in the open like that. But he wants Nick to know where it is, in case.

“Dangerous place to set up a homestead,” Nick sucks on his cigarette. He pushes the smoke back out his nostrils, but only one side lets it loose.

“Does the name ring any bells?” Ellie asks, arms folded over her chest.

Nick shakes his head, “Can’t say that it does. But he needs help?”

Ellie nods, “Muttered something about a girl and a radio as he was leaving. But I couldn’t get much out of him.”

Slouching back, his ass against the nearest chair, Nick admits, “Suppose I better head up there, then. Only wish I had more to go on.”

“If it’s helpful, he seemed terribly distressed?”

“They always are,” Nick shakes his head.

Ellie admits, “I know.”

“I’ll go with you?” MacCready offers. It’s not as if he has anywhere else to be. Not since the falling out with Weiss. Shi- Even seeing Piper around Diamond City is hard, now. Weiss hasn’t been through himself since. Nick doesn’t want to talk about it. And MacCready doesn’t press the issue. He knows why. That’s not the question. He was there, he saw it, he made it happen because he couldn’t keep his greedy hands out of places they shouldn’t be. But maybe it’s better this way.

Nick smiles, grabbing MacCready’s coat off the hook by the door. He’d only just put it there. Holding the duster by the shoulders, he waits for MacCready to slip his arms back into it. MacCready rolls his eyes. The gesture is sweet, on the edge of patronizing, but he gets into his coat. It’ll only be about thirty minutes of walking until he’s too warm again. But it’s hard to talk Nick out of something, once he’s set his mind to it. 

Before they go, Nick rifles through his desk, grabbing a fresh pack of cigarettes and some cells for his rifle. MacCready has twenty-seven rounds in a pack. That should be plenty. 

“Let’s get going then, partner,” Nick winks.


	2. Define Your Reality However You See Fit Because One Size Doesn't Fit All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up to and including departure from the Commonwealth to Far Harbor

The trip up the coast is quiet, uneventful. MacCready can’t say that he likes the sea. In fact, he loathes it. Wet and full of stinging salt and terrible. Though the air is warm, he pulls his duster tight around his body, popping up his collar to shield his cheeks from the slight spray off the rocks.

He and Nick don’t exchange words, they don’t need to, comfortable in each other’s silences. MacCready likes that he doesn’t have to perform for Nick, they can just make their way across the sand and rocks, trying to keep to the harder packed trails when they can.

The granules are in his boots, working their way in between the fiber of his socks. But MacCready doesn’t really mind that either. Finally, though, he teases, “You think you can turn this crud into pearls? If the sand gets lodged in your innards?”

Nick smiles, gesturing with his cigarette, “Maybe then I’ll finally be worth something.”

The Nakano home is sturdy and well kept, two stories and a tidy dock. MacCready can see the edge of a second building behind the home. A workshop of some sort. A restored boat rocks softly with the tide, the hull creaking in familiar patterns. MacCready watches it bob as they approach the house. Makes him queasy already. 

He lets Nick walk up the porch stairs first, knock on the door. He’s the one Kenji Nakano is expecting, the one he asked for. MacCready is just a sidekick, a hanger-on, though Nick would never tell him that. 

Running his fingers along the door frame, MacCready draws his hand sharply back when the paint flakes onto his skin, falling to the boards at their feet. Nick looks at him and shakes his head.

The door swings open, a woman in her mid-forties greeting them, her lips drawn tight. “You must be the detective.” She looks from Nick to MacCready. “Detectives,” she corrects. “Thank you for coming.” She ushers them inside.

Kenji appears somewhat older than his wife. But that doesn’t mean much in the Wastes. MacCready sees his own face every morning in the mirror. He used to see Piper’s across from his at meals. She’s almost four years older than he is, but you could never tell. Grabbing the brim of his hat, MacCready pulls it down, shading his face. Nick takes his own hat off, holding it in his hands.

“Detective Valentine, you came!” Kenji comes forward, gripping Nick’s hand between both of his and squeezing. “I was starting to worry that you had not been back to the agency.”

Nick shakes his head, “Tell me what you need, Mr. Nakano.” Looking back at MacCready, it becomes clear that Nick doesn’t know who this man is. He’s not put off by Kenji’s familiarity, but he can’t quite reciprocate it. 

“It’s our daughter, Kasumi, she’s been kidnapped,” Kenji explains, his voice pinched. 

Mrs. Nakano shakes her head sharply, “We don’t know that, Kenji. For all we know she left on her own, to make a life for herself.” Her voice softens, “I know you only wanted to protect her, but she’s an intelligent woman, clever, and resourceful.” She looks to MacCready, instead of Nick, “That’s how I know our daughter is still alive.”

Nick makes quick notes in his little spiral notebook. MacCready finds it awfully funny, that he writes anything down. He’s literally...he’s got storage banks right, can remember anything? But he writes things down. A quirk from his other body. The ghost that haunts Nick Valentine. MacCready has learned to live with him. Sometimes, he outright benefits from him.

Nick listens with rapt attention to the Nakanos. Kenji is convinced his daughter has been lured away, then captured by force. His wife, Rei, thinks Kasumi left of her own free will, they were wrong to keep her so sheltered. She wants to see this world. She's grown, capable, bright. Rei wants to know her daughter is safe, but is uninterested in clipping her wings.

MacCready grows restless, his feet carrying him away from the living room where Nick continues to interview the Nakanos. The sun is too bright, the angle of it getting into his eyes. He heads to the kitchen, looks around. Maybe he can find clues, maybe he can be helpful.

There's a holotape next to the stove, labeled “Stove!” in the looping handwriting of girlhood. Most of the girls at Little Lamplight wrote big, bubble letters like that at some point or another. Sometimes they would outgrow the style, sometimes not.

From his pack he pulls out the miniplayer he and Nick have brought along, popping the tape inside. Kasumi’s voice is too loud at first, and MacCready has to turn the volume down.

“Project report...stove! It's...a stove,” she sighs audibly. “Sometimes I think my parents break these things, just so I'll have something to fix…”

When the tape finishes running, he pulls it back out. He's not sure it's worth keeping, so he places it back where he found it. If Kasumi is really gone, maybe her parents will appreciate being able to listen back. MacCready doesn't know.

Nick appears in the kitchen doorway, his soft hand curling around the frame. “The girl’s room is upstairs. And the parents think we should check the workshop around back. She spent a lot of time there, even after her grandfather passed.”

MacCready trots along behind Nick, taking the stairs to Kasumi’s bedroom. There's another holo on the table in the hall, same, lovely, handwriting. MacCready takes that tape too. While Nick searches the bedroom, MacCready lets it play. He sits on the edge of Kasumi’s bed, the miniplayer in his lap.

“Project report...lamp...I just feel like I'm capable of so much more. Grandfather taught me so much…”

“She sounds lonely,” MacCready observes. 

Nick’s attention is on the radio, centered on Kasumi’s desk, surrounded by tools. “They are awfully isolated up here. It's a long way to the nearest settlement.”

MacCready doesn't mean the physical isolation, though that certainly is true as well. “She didn't have anyone to talk to. Her parents were here, yeah. But it's not the same.”

“You're a better judge of character than you let on,” Nick smiles, he has another tape in his hand. “Know something about loneliness?”

Reaching out, MacCready takes the tape from him, swapping “Lamp!” for “Radio.” 

“I suppose,” he doesn't talk about Little Lamplight much. How much he misses home. How much it will always be home. He doesn't talk about Duncan, hundreds of miles away, but safe and secure. Away from all of this. He doesn't talk about Lucy, who will always be a part of him, maybe the best part. There is a catalogue of loneliness, gaping voids that will remain empty. He's learned to live with it. To appreciate what, and who, he still has. And once all of this is over? He’ll hold Duncan again, and say with a clear head and heart, that he helped make the world a better place.

“I fixed the radio! And I was right, there are other people out there to talk to. I got a transmission. They say they're a colony of synths, living free, without fear, farther up the coast. They all seem so happy to talk to me!”

Nick’s frown deepens as the tape plays.

“You think it was some sort of trap?” MacCready asks when the tape finally stops. 

“I'm not sure.”

MacCready takes the tape out of the player. Nick pockets it. So far, it's their best lead on what happened to Kasumi.

There's not much more to Kasumi’s room. It's filled with little mechanical projects, some wires hooked up to a tato, a tin can with what looks like raw battery acid inside, a microscope aimed at another piece of cut glass. None of it will help them find Kasumi.

Kenji meets them in the upstairs hall, asking directly if they've found anything. MacCready stays quiet, letting Nick do the talking. Nick only tells him they're going to check the workshop. Without any news, Kenji’s shoulders slump. 

He loves his daughter so much. But that doesn’t mean he’s right about her. 

The workshop isn't so much different than Kasumi’s room, filled with little projects. But there’s bigger equipment too. Metalworking, battery stations, a plastics press. MacCready doesn't know how most of the stuff works. But that's not their job here.

“I don't remember him,” Nick says, breaking the silence MacCready had assumed to be normal, comfortable.

“What?”

“Kenji Nakano. I don't remember him. He told me,” Nick taps his fingers against his forehead before pulling them away. “He and I worked a case together. Well, I needed a boat. And he had one. Case went sour, and we got out, but barely.”

MacCready only waits for Nick to continue.

“I told him I remember him,” Nick shakes his head, “but I don't.”

“Do you think he's lying?”

“No,” Nick pauses, looking at a picture frame on the desk in front of him. It’s of Kasumi and her grandfather. “I don't think he's lying. And that's the part that worries me.” He slips his metal finger around the back of the frame, a key popping out. Nick turns it over in his hand. “I wonder what this is for.”

MacCready clenches his jaw. “You're forgetting things?”

Nick doesn't look at him. “Let's find this safe.”

\--

They spend the night in Kasumi’s bedroom. Kenji apologizes that there isn't more space. In the morning, they’ll depart for Far Harbor, to find Kasumi, to bring her home, maybe. MacCready doesn't know.

It’s all on that other tape, the one they found in the workshop. 

Kasumi thinks she's a synth, because she can't remember her childhood. She can't remember being five, or ten, or even fifteen. As if she spawned into the world last year. She loved her parents, didn't she? And her grandfather? Is it all a lie?

MacCready shifts in bed, turning his back to Nick. Nick’s eyes are already dimmed, his arm draped over MacCready’s waist. “What's eating you?” Nick asks.

“Just a strange bed.”

Nick lets it go. He knows well enough that MacCready is a light sleeper. They both shift until MacCready’s back presses more firmly against Nick’s chest. 

MacCready goes to his oldest memory. What is it? He's five years old, in the tunnels of Little Lamplight. It's winter, cold and dark. He's scared, but he doesn't yell for his mother. It wasn't his mother who left him here.

“Hello?” he calls. Up ahead, he can hear voices, but no light. Not yet. So he tries again, louder this time, “HELLO!?!”

Footsteps echo off the walls, drawing closer, closer. A girl comes to meet him. Catbear! She's fourteen. She's in love with Nall, who’s fourteen too. Nall is mayor. They ask him if he's a boy or a girl or both or neither. MacCready says he's a boy.

Nall washes his face with a wet rag, it stings a little. They tell him it's okay to cry tonight. But by tomorrow, he'd better be done. Crying will scare the little ones.

MacCready doesn't understand. He's five. Isn't he little? But then he understands, because Catbear comes in with a baby in her arms, fussing and grabbing at her hair, thrown over her shoulder in a long plait. 

MacCready stops crying then.

He knows who he is.

\--

They’ll have to take the boat up the coast. 

Nick sighs, saying it’s not too late for Robert to turn back. “You don’t have to do this for me,” he soothes. “I wasn’t planning for the grand tour of the New England coast when we took this job.”

They stand on the dock together, watching the boat in the lull of the bay. It will take hours, half a day, depending on the weather, to reach Far Harbor. The Spring has been kind so far, but it will grow colder as they travel North.

The Nakanos have outfitted them with what supplies they could. Time is important here, time to reach their daughter. Nick and Robert have to leave, now. His fears can’t get in the way of this.

“I don’t know how to swim,” MacCready says. 

“And I’m pretty sure I’ll just sink to the bottom of the sea anyway.”

“You don’t know how to swim either,” MacCready snarls.

Nick sucks on his cigarette, smoke escaping through his neck. “I did...I think.”

“You’ll still sink.”

“I know.”

MacCready tightens his grip on his bag. It’s stuffed full with rations now, and extra clothes. A sweater that is Kasumi’s. Kenji thought it would be the best fit for him. He’s given up on fighting people about his size. 

Going to Far Harbor together isn’t worth arguing over, because Nick won’t argue, either for or against MacCready making the trip. He’ll only repeat that it’s Robert’s choice to make. So he makes it, putting his foot onto the boat. When it rocks under his sole, he almost bounces back off. But he forces his foot down, then the other, so he’s on board.

Nick follows him, skimming his hand over the small of MacCready’s back as he makes his way to the steering controls. Turning the motor on, the boat sputters to life. Kenji assured them she’s fast, and seaworthy. As long as the weather cooperates, they won’t be long. 

MacCready sits on one of the long vinyl benches as Nick starts to pull the boat away from the dock. Better to be sitting than to lose his feet out from under himself. Less embarrassing. MacCready closes his eyes, tries not to look out onto the endless water.

He’s seen maps. Many maps. This is the Atlantic Ocean. On the other side? Europe, Africa, places he’s seen in disintegrating photographs, spread out in magazines like buffets upon which he could gorge himself. But in between here and there? The void.

“Hey,” Nick calls, turning so he can half-look at MacCready, “why don’t you stand with me awhile?”

Swallowing, MacCready pushes himself up off the padded bench. He reaches for the nearest hull wall, trying to steady his step. But he finds he doesn’t need it. Though the boat is moving, he’s standing perfectly still. Taking a step forward, his balance keeps. Another, then another, until he’s at Nick’s side. 

Nick keeps one hand on the steering wheel, regulating their course. The other, he wraps around MacCready’s waist, holding him to his side. “It just would have gotten lonely, without you.”

Sighing, MacCready relaxes into Nick’s frame, letting his legs go a little loose as he rests his weight on Nick’s torso. “Suppose so,” he agrees.


	3. Stop Your Hands Before Your Lips Give Up the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up to departing Far Harbor for Acadia

“They’re coming through the fog!” Someone shouts from the walkway above. Their hair whips into their face with the wind off the harbor. Behind MacCready, the borrowed boat smashes into the dock with a sudden crack. It’s still mid-afternoon, but the sky is dark.

“Shit,” Avery curses, “We can finish this discussion once the fog spawn are down.” She looks from Nick to MacCready, “Prove that your intentions are good.”

“Of course, ma’am,” but before Nick can finish his thought, Avery is already running up the wooden rampart, rifle in hand.

Allen Lee takes enough time to spit at his feet before turning, making his opinion on the matter quite clear, again. As if his contempt hasn’t been crystal from the start. 

MacCready hears it before he sees it, the shriek of whatever beasts are attacking the gates of Far Harbor. Whatever they are, they’re big, and heavy. There’s scuttling too, smaller creatures clumped together. Mirelurks, no doubt. He’s seen enough Lurks to last several lifetimes, killed enough of them to keep on living. 

“I guess we’re helping,” MacCready keeps his rifle on his back. Easier to move into position if both his hands are free. He scans the fortifications the Harborfolk have set up, looking for a a place he can perch. Time is of the essence, it always is, but MacCready needs space to work too. “I’m going up there,” he points to one of the rooftops. It’s angled slightly, but not so much he’ll slip off, even if it starts raining again. 

Nick nods sharply, “I’ve got to get closer if I’m going to be of any help,” he pats the barrel of his laser rifle. 

“I know,” MacCready stops himself from coming up to kiss Nick. Not here, where they don’t know these people. Where Lee has already been openly hostile towards them. But he brushes his fingers against Nick’s soft hand, squeezing tight before running for the ladder. He doesn’t look back, they’ve wasted so much time already.

MacCready easily pulls himself up to the rooftop. All the buildings at the Harbor seem to be built to be repaired, a constant state of almost falling apart. The benefit, in a time like this, is they’ve put in access paths to everything. Once he’s up the ladder, he can dash across the to the next rooftop, which puts him in a better position to aim.

Crouching down, MacCready finally swings his sniper rifle into his hands. The ground below is chaotic, dark, with mist heaving forward towards the defensive wall. Harborfolk line the ramparts, taking shots at the Mirelurks below. Some of them are better with their guns than others. All of them manage to hit the Lurks, but that’s not always good enough. They’ll run out of bullets before the crabs are dead, if they can’t hit the fleshier faces.

“Sh-shoot,” MacCready looks through his scope, choosing his target with precision. The three Lurks closest to the wall aren’t his best option. Their faces are pressed against the wall, and the residents are already emptying buckshot into their tough shells. 

Pulling back slightly, he takes aim at another Mirelurk, just breaking the line of fog. It’s lumbering, clumsy on two legs. As it stutters forwards, MacCready takes aim, hitting it between the eyes. He inhales again, exhales, hits it with a second shot on its way down. Just to be sure.

Where the other Mirelurks are bunched against the wall, someone starts pouring burning tar from a metal bucket down onto the mutated monsters. They screech in agony. They whine for a long time after they’re already dead. MacCready doesn’t linger on the scene, keeping watch on the fog.

The next wave breaks the line, but this time it’s not Mirelurks. MacCready isn’t sure where to shoot. They run on four legs, but can hop up on two. From their massive heads, small balls of light bob in the darkness, focusing his attention. What if he hits one? His aim is good, but not that good, the way the little lights move erratically as the beasts run towards the gates.

Someone shouts “Anglers!” So now the beasts have a name. Anglers. Anglers. MacCready works to commit what he can to memory. 

The Harbor residents aim at the bulkiest part of the creatures, their heads. So MacCready aims there too. Their throats are thick, but he’s not sure his bullets will pierce their spines, like he can manage with human targets. In this case, he defers to the locals, the experts, even if they may turn out to be wrong. He aims for the head.

Keeping track of Nick in the chaos is easy. He’s the only one using an energy weapon, his beams cutting through the thin fog that creeps to the wooden wall. He’s shoulder to shoulder with the residents, none of them paying much mind that he’s a synth. At least, right now. Once this battle is over, MacCready shouldn’t waste time getting back to him.

They’re not even finished with the Anglers before the next creature breaks through. MacCready sees it a ways off, before it even punctures the fog line. Whatever it is, it’s tall enough that its head pokes through the cloud as it bellows, coming up on its hind legs.

It’s bigger than any deathclaw MacCready has ever seen. And while he’s seen a Mirelurk Queen, this monster is something wholly different. The massive Mirelurks are slow moving, lumbering. You have to stay out of their way, but if you can keep out from underfoot, you stand a shot at damaging the queens.

But this? This?

“Fog Crawler!”

This moves with a swiftness that chills MacCready to his core. He tries to calculate if he is high enough. If the walls are high enough. If he can escape if he needs to. He’s so far away from the Harbor residents. That was by design. He’s out of reach for most monsters. But not this one.

The Harborfolk have been holding out, it would seem. Perhaps they knew the Fog Crawler was coming. Only a matter of time. They have grenades, lots of them. They fall like ripe fruit at the feet of the crawler, before blasting open, sending debris off in all directions. The residents shield their faces, trying to keep the dirt and shrapnel out of their eyes. 

“FUCK!” Someone screams, jumping down the wall. MacCready doesn’t pause to see who it is, turning his rifle back to the Crawler, down, but not dead. He aims into its skull, letting off round after round. He can see how the .308s sink into its carapace. 

Whoever it was who jumped from the wall starts emptying his gun into the Crawler as well, from a much shorter distance. He fills the creature with dozens of 5.56s, letting them spray the corpse. MacCready is certain the Crawler is dead by now. It’s a waste of ammunition.

It’s Allen Lee, of course it is, who jumped the wall. Who had to get the last shot in.

The Harbor is quiet, and the fog starts to lift, though it’s still patchy in places. Allen doesn’t move from the side of the Crawler, his shoulders rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

Realizing it’s over, MacCready dashes back towards the ladder. He should reload his weapon, in case there is another wave. But he wants to make it back to Nick, before someone else can. 

“All clear!” Avery calls in her booming voice.

MacCready slides down the ladder, his boots shaking the floorboards when he hits. He jogs over to where he last saw Nick’s laserfire, hoping there won’t be trouble.

Nick’s waiting with Avery, who has already picked up conversation as the rest of the settlement resumes their daily lives. They look shaken, but not broken. This has happened before. 

“The damn fog just keeps getting thicker. The creatures breed in there, make their push when there are too many crammed into too little space. Not so different from humans,” she shakes her head. 

“Hell of a fight,” Nick observes. 

MacCready hangs back, waiting in case Nick needs him. He’s never been much of a talker. Well, not since leaving Little Lamplight. Besides, even with the missing pieces of his face, his hands, his neck, Nick’s much more charming than MacCready can manage, even on his good days. 

Keeping his hands in his pockets, he doesn’t stray far. Still, he tries to get a read on the other residents, trying to pick out the ones who stare too long. 

For the most part, no one does, leaving Avery to tend to the guests. The “mainlanders.” But there’s one woman, inside the nearby workshop. MacCready can see her through the paneless window, her hands unmoving, though she grips metalworking tools in both. Her face is dirty, patched with mud. Her clothes too. MacCready thinks for a moment he almost recognizes her, but that’s impossible. 

The woman stares, not at Nick, but at MacCready. She doesn’t stop staring until long after she’s been caught. Going back to her work, she doesn’t look up at MacCready again. But the exchange leaves him cold. He tugs on the brim of his hat, pulling it low on his forehead.

“Robert,” Nick grabs his attention. “We need to meet with a man named Longfellow. He’ll be our guide up to Acadia.”

“Alright,” MacCready fishes around in his coat pockets for nothing in particular. He has a stick of gum in there, a pen cap, two extra bullets. Looking back to the open window, the woman is still absorbed in her work.

The Last Plank is full of patrons, already crowding into tables where the chairs all match. Lucky, to find sets like that. The bartender nods at them. Nick asks if he wants anything, before drawing his hand back, just short of resting it on MacCready’s waist. He’s realized too, that they need to be cautious. But even if the habits of affection between them aren’t exactly old, they’re hard to break. 

“I’ll get it, you should talk to Longfellow.”

Nick nods towards one corner of the room, where an old man with a white beard and prominent nose sits alone in the booth against the window. “I think that’s him.”

“Alright,” MacCready’s hand wants to run down Nick’s arm. Instead he turns for the bar. 

The bartender smiles at him, broad and charming. Asks him if he wants the local special? “Though I should warn you, it packs a punch.” Leaning over the bar, his dark eyes are warm, happy. “Name’s Mitch, and I should let you know, first drink is on the house.”

MacCready tells him whiskey’s fine. If they happen to have it. He just wants something to warm his stomach a bit. Mitch pours him two fingers, instead of just one. 

“Figure your friend isn’t much for drinking?”

MacCready rolls his eyes, “More than you would think.”

“Funny,” Mitch scrunches his face before holding MacCready’s eyes again. “Haven’t seen a synth like him before.”

“Yeah,” MacCready doesn’t offer anything else. 

“Well,” Mitch pushes back from the bar. “You need anything else let me know,” he winks. “Haven’t seen anyone like you either.”

MacCready is flattered, in a way, that Mitch shows interest in him. He guesses? It’s still odd. MacCready knows he’s not much to look at. And he’s fairly sure pointing out that he’s taken, even leaving out the part about Nick being his partner, would only make the situation more awkward. He takes the whiskey with him to the table where Longfellow and Nick are already discussing the route to Acadia.

“I’m not taking anyone else out there to die in the fog,” Longfellow shakes his head. 

“We can carry our weight, I assure you,” Nick says.

Longfellow looks up at MacCready, his gaze traveling down as MacCready slides into the booth next to Nick, placing his glass down carefully. 

“This one barely looks old enough to carry a gun.”

MacCready scoffs, “I’m twenty-three,” almost. He’s almost twenty-three.

Longfellow laughs at that, “Just because you can grow a little hair on your face, doesn’t make you a man.”

He takes a bigger swing from his glass than he originally intended. “No, but I could start listing the people I’ve killed, if that makes a difference?”

Leaning back in the booth, Longfellow tisks at MacCready’s boast. It’s true though. MacCready doesn’t even know all of their names. 

“There’s a girl, her family is worried. And you’re the only one able to make the trip. Could you find it in your heart to give a damn?” Nick lights up his own cigarette before offering one to Longfellow.

Sighing deeply, Longfellow pulls a stick from the pack, but uses his own lighter. “I’m getting soft in my old age.”

“We’re only human,” Nick smiles.

MacCready doesn’t dare correct him, but Longfellow’s laugh might as well.

\--

They spend the night at the Plank, renting one room with one bed. Nick makes a show of saying they need one with an armchair, so he can sit through the night. 

Of course, that’s the last thing MacCready wants.

“It’s cold,” he tugs at Nick’s shirt, pulling them both into bed fully dressed. They can’t really do much. The walls are thin and MacCready thinks Mitch is already suspicious. Or maybe he was just hoping MacCready would take him up on his earlier offer. 

He’s so tired, he could fall asleep just like this, fully clothed, with his boots on, pressed close to Nick’s unceasing warmth, listening to the machine inside Nick tick. Or, no, wait, Nick’s inside the machine too. They shelter each other. He’s tired. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

“You at least need your boots off.” Nick starts shifting around, unlacing his own shoes and putting them on the floor before helping MacCready untie his. Once they’re loose enough, MacCready presses his toe to the back of his heel to get them off, letting them fall to the floor with a thud. 

“Good enough?”

“I suppose so.” Nick draws the sheet over both of them, trapping the heat so it will wrap around MacCready.

MacCready slips one hand into Nick’s shirt, slipping his fingers between the buttons, careful not to loosen them. “What, no kiss goodnight?” he keeps the volume of his voice low. 

He can feel Nick’s mouth against his hair before he slips into sleep.


	4. Carved Tragedies We'd Just as Soon Refute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From here on out expect general Far Harbor spoilers. The game has been out a month, and I'm going to start mixing together quests.

He speaks with Nick’s face, but not his voice. The crackle sounds coming from DiMA’s mouth are unfamiliar, foreign. But there is a similarity in their noses, their cheeks, the line of their necks. Though their bodies suffer different damages, ill-advised repairs, they were built the same. It makes MacCready sick, to look at DiMA for too long, and half-see Nick. An optical illusion that makes him nauseous.

“Brother,” DiMA frowns. “I didn’t know...what became of you, after we parted.”

Nick shakes his head, dropping his nose towards the floor. “I don’t remember you.”

“I-I, don’t suppose you would.” DiMA sounds sad. But he looks like a monster. All tubes and lights, modifications that push his body to the extreme, like a peacock’s bloom behind his head. MacCready looks away again.

MacCready works the brim of his hat between his fingers, wearing away the fabric. He realizes that he’s taken off his hat too late, that DiMA can see his face. He doesn’t want DiMA to see his face.

“Your memory...they hurt you, so much, brother,” DiMA tries to soothe. 

Anger bubbles in MacCready’s throat, but Nick’s words explode first, all over the concrete floor. 

“Stop calling me that!” Nick realizes afterwards that he is too loud.

The male Gen 3, Faraday, starts to reach forward, when DiMA takes a step back from Nick. The female, Chase, just snickers. 

Everyone in Acadia is a synth. Everyone but MacCready.

He puts his hat back on, pulling down the brim. It’s not in his nature to intervene, but he places his hand on Nick’s arm, squeezing down. “We should go talk to Kasumi…”

Looking away from DiMA, Nick’s eyes soften, the glow fading out just slightly. “In a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” MacCready feels silly for having said anything at all. 

“Why can’t I remember you?” Nick shakes his head.

Tilting his head to one side, DiMA answers, “My personality was allowed to develop as my processes saw fit, based on experience. But with you, they tried to give you Nick Valentine’s memories. Forced them inside of you. Again and again, the sync would fail.” 

“I don’t remember any of this.”

DiMA smiles, “In a way, I’m glad you don’t. You’d wake up screaming. Not knowing what they did to you. You always thought yourself human. Then you would see me. You would...see yourself. Maybe it is better that you have forgotten.”

“But there should be something, right?” there is the edge of desperation in Nick’s voice. “You said we escaped together, that you...helped me get out. So they couldn’t have wiped my memories then. Why can’t I remember?”

MacCready wants to leave. Seized with a sudden panic, it’s not as if he just wants to flee from DiMA’s presence. MacCready wants to leave Acadia, he wants to leave Far Harbor. They don’t belong here. Not that he’s entirely sure where they belong. But it’s not here. Nick doesn’t need DiMA’s pity. Nick doesn’t deserve to question himself, not like this.

“Nick,” MacCready pleads, quiet, though he knows the others can hear him.

DiMA looks to MacCready and MacCready does his best not to look back. There’s still too much symmetry, but not enough comfort. His intimate knowledge of Nick’s mannerisms makes every tilt of the head, every flex of DiMA’s fingers look stolen. 

“Robert, I can understand your concern,” DiMA tries to comfort. But the platitudes feel like barbs. MacCready bristles at his name. 

“You don’t,” It would have been better that he said nothing.

“Ah, my apologies...only, have you ever wondered? About yourself, I mean? Ever questioned?”

MacCready vibrates at the accusation. DiMA is doing this on purpose, trying to cast doubts in Nick, in himself. “No,” he hisses, “never.”

“Oh? Do you find the possibility upsetting?” 

Even though MacCready knows Faraday is a synth as well, he looks to the scientist. Force of habit really. Because Faraday has a human face, maybe. And he moves like he’s human. Fluid sometimes, halting when he’s nervous. He’s nervous now. Chase is only ever calm. Well, at least as far as MacCready can tell. She was a Courser. They’re...different.

But Faraday’s unease is a comfort in itself. Because maybe he at least knows what DiMA is suggesting is crazy.

“No, not at all,” MacCready shoves his hands into his pockets, tugging at the loose threads he finds inside. 

“You and Nick are, close,” he smiles. “He is lucky to have you as a friend.”

MacCready almost laughs at that, because the scene is so surreal. But though MacCready provides little acknowledgment in return, DiMA keeps on talking. 

“What is the first thing that you remember, Robert?”

“Fuck you.” He doesn’t think to stop himself. It just tumbles from his mouth. Somehow, it feels fitting, that this is where his resolve breaks. His promise. Not in passion or anger or frustration, but in a sort of terrifying numbness. MacCready doesn’t owe DiMA anything. No matter what he has done, or claims he has done, for Nick. It doesn’t matter how he cared for Nick when he was broken and screaming. When the Institute made them both. It doesn’t matter. MacCready doesn’t have to suffer these questions. Nick doesn’t either.

And in that moment, in the empty nothingness of too many memories, MacCready turns to leave. A dull ache inside him still calls out. He shouldn’t leave Nick behind. 

How dare he? How dare DiMA question MacCready’s memory? When there are so many things he would rather forget? As if he never prayed for those pictures, those screams, those cold nights, and empty stomachs, to just magically disappear. Like they never happened.

MacCready doesn’t really register opening the door, stepping outside. But the day is particularly clear and bright, the omnipresent fog held back by Acadia’s condensers and the elevation of the hilltop. 

As much as MacCready would like to run away, he stops his feet from going any further. Sitting on the steps, he pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on bent knees. He’ll wait here, a few minutes more, before heading back inside. To Nick, he’ll apologize. Maybe Nick will be angry, maybe not. In either case, they’ll forgive each other. He’d just as soon never see DiMA again. 

MacCready’s head is still between his knees when he feels the heat settle next to him. He doesn’t look up until Nick lights his cigarette, the smell of smoke pooling in between them. Only then does he tilt his head, resting his cheek against his kneecap. 

“I’m sorry,” he really is. It wasn’t his intention to abandon Nick, even if it was only for a few minutes. They are supposed to be partners in this. Only MacCready didn’t know detective work was so personal. 

Nick leaves his legs long, taking up multiple steps, ankles pressed against the edge. “So am I. I shouldn’t have let him talk to you that way.”

MacCready laughs, “I should say the same.”

“You at least tried,” Nick counters.

“Yeah,” MacCready smiles, “And you didn’t listen.”

Nick shakes his head before putting his cigarette back between his lips. 

“Are you okay, though?” MacCready asks. Really, Nick is the one whose world has been turned upside down. How many years has he forgotten? How much of his past just...gone?

“It’s hard, thinking I had...have a brother...someone who...cared about me.” Nick pauses, “Before you, I mean.”

“Don’t build me up too much,” MacCready deflects, “I know you’ve had lots of lovers. Even if you’re held together with duct tape and hope, you possess a certain battered charm.”

Nick ignores the comment about his sex life, but takes up the teasing, “You’re about sixty percent alcohol and thirty percent sweaters.”

“I don’t drink that much,” at least they can fall back into their routines. 

“And there isn’t that much to you,” Nick throws his arm around MacCready’s shoulders, pulling him close against his side. MacCready rests his head against Nick’s shoulder, scoots a little on the step so their hips touch too. He likes the comfort. He won’t deny it. 

\--

They decide to stay the night at Acadia. 

After turning back inside, they head below, into the bowels of the facility, to finally talk to Kasumi. DiMA doesn't speak a word as they pass.

Kasumi is thoughtful and pretty, and more clever than MacCready could ever hope to be. Having her own suspicions of DiMA, MacCready likes her, maybe it is too easy to like her. Standing next to her, MacCready is suddenly aware of just how tall everyone else at Acadia is. Faraday, Chase, Cog, Jule, they're all as tall as Nick. Six feet, exactly. But Kasumi is a hair shorter than he is. He tries to think of the other synths populating the facility, those he has seen in passing. They're not all the same height, but most of them are.

“Do you really think you’re a synth?” MacCready asks, once she has stated quite plainly that she believes DiMA is hiding something from her, from everyone.

Kasumi frowns, brushing her dark hair back behind her ear. “I don’t know. It’s weird I can’t remember. I can’t remember being a child, you know? Not even that it’s...you know, fuzzy. Just it isn’t there at all.”

MacCready nods like he understands. He doesn’t.

Nick says they’ll look into DiMA, if Kasumi thinks about returning home to her parents. They miss her. They want to know she's safe. She’ll only promise that she’ll consider it. But she is not leaving the island until she has answers. In a way, her quest is for her grandfather, who would want to know the truth. She wants answers. If not about herself, then regarding DiMA.

Once they've finished speaking to Kasumi, Chase ends up collecting them, saying she can show them to their room. While she's not in the habit of playing hostess, she does have a request of them.

“We were expecting an escaped synth, coming up from the Commonwealth. Everyone passes through Far Harbor. But I haven't heard word of him. Normally I would go myself, but the fog has gotten thick. I'm concerned about leaving Acadia short a gun.” She shakes her head, keying open the door to their room. “If you were heading back that direction?”

Nick nods, “We are.”

She gives Nick the details of who to talk to at the Harbor, pointedly ignoring MacCready. He doesn't mind, slipping into the room and dropping his pack next to one of the twin beds. Unlacing his boots, he kicks them aside once they are loose enough, flopping into bed. MacCready faces the wall, letting Nick and Chase finish their conversation.

He is uncertain if he likes it less here, or at the Harbor. If human eyes or synth ones judge him more harshly for his actions.

The door clicks closed and Nick switches off the lights. Rolling onto his back, MacCready can see the glow of Nick’s eyes as he shucks his coat, his shirt, his slacks. As his eyes adjust to the dimness, he can make out the lines of Nick’s body, but the lack of light makes Nick’s seams, where the soft plates of silicone bind together, fade away into a smooth surface.

Before Nick can get into bed, MacCready squirms out of his clothes, letting them drop into a pile on the floor. Only in his boxers, he waits for Nick’s warmth to replace that he's lost. Would he kill for a double bed? But maybe it's not any clearer to synths than it is to humans what he and Nick share.

“Care for company?” Nick asks, as if there would ever be another answer.

“Get into bed,” MacCready half-commands.

Once Nick is under the sheets, MacCready rolls his body into his, tucking his head under Nick’s chin. 

Without a word, Nick slides his soft hand between their bodies, tracing over MacCready’s ribs, down to the jut of his hip, where Nick stops to squeeze. “Need some help?” Nick offers.

MacCready doesn't bother to hide that he’s half-hard in his boxers. Can't help it, being around Nick, this close, gets his mind racing. They haven't done anything since leaving the Commonwealth. Too many eyes and ears and unknown variables at Far Harbor. So maybe, maybe, it's time for MacCready. If Nick doesn't help him, he’ll just have to help himself later.

And so what if the synths hear, right? They're not in any place to judge. Are they? MacCready isn't even sure. He figures he's probably met Gen 3s before, and didn't even know. They're not supposed to be distinguishable from humans. So maybe they get riled up too. Maybe they have sex. The more MacCready thinks about it, the more he's convinced it must be true.

“You're thinking too hard,” Nick teases. “You're going to blow a fuse.”

MacCready smiles against the edge of Nick’s throat. He dips his tongue just inside, scraping against the ragged seam where his flesh is torn away, before lapping against the cords inside. He can taste the rubber on his tongue, the faintness of copper without blood.

Nick skids his hand from MacCready’s hip to the waistband of his boxers, pushing down the elastic to free his hardening cock. Inhaling sharply, MacCready lets his head fall back, leaving Nick’s mouth to chase his parted lips.

They're quiet, mostly, as Nick works him with efficient strokes. He knows what Nick wants, what he desires in return. MacCready wraps his arms around Nick’s shoulders, digging his nails down hard enough into Nick’s back that he can feel the prickling of sensation.

Still quiet, MacCready rakes his voice against the shell of Nick’s ear. “You feel so good, just like that. I'm going to come for you. Please, Nick, please.”

While Nick turns his head, latching to MacCready’s bared neck, he leaves MacCready’s mouth free.

“Want you, want,” he's so perilously close, MacCready starts jumbling his words together, “want you...in me, Nick, oh, fu-come on.”

Spilling over Nick’s hand, both their stomachs, MacCready stalks his breath, trying to steady the racing of his heart. Nick’s eyes are bright, casting shadows across the sheets. He's smirking. MacCready can only just make out the curve of his lips. “Maybe we should look into that.”

MacCready lets go of Nick’s shoulders, using his hand to wipe his forehead. Rolling to the side, he grabs a pack of tissues out of his bag and pushes a handful towards Nick. “Your fingers are in me all the time.” He sets about cleaning off his chest and stomach, too exhausted to make his way to the bathroom.

“So you wouldn't want to try with...something else?”

“Like a strap-on?” MacCready asks. They're past the point of intimacy where he'd be ashamed to speak plainly. Still, he doesn't need all of Acadia hearing about their sex life.

Nick chokes a laugh, “Sure. Does that sound like too much?”

“I know it's not too much. Done it before, that way.” MacCready’s eyes drift closed, he's running out of steam.

“Aren't you full of surprises?”

“Sorry, want me to play the poor innocent a little bit more?”

“Not one bit,” Nick concedes.


	5. Revelations Don't Soothe the Ache

MacCready wakes, alone, in a strange bed. But he’s not concerned. He remembers they’re at Acadia. Nick couldn’t have gotten far. In an emergency, he would have woken MacCready. So he must have just gotten up to do something idle. It is strange that Nick would wake first, even if he doesn’t actually have to sleep at all. MacCready is just inclined to wake up unreasonably early.

The sheets are still warm next to him, so it couldn’t have been long ago that Nick got up. MacCready stretches his arms up over his head, grabbing at the bedframe and tugging until it creaks. Swinging his legs over the side, he recoils slightly when the ground is cold. But he’s got to get up. 

Once he’s dressed and washed his face, he steps out into the hall, looking for any sign of Nick. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his duster, MacCready resolves to try the rotunda. Maybe Nick is trying to talk to DiMA again, make amends. While MacCready can’t say he approves, no, that’s not right, he doesn’t think DiMA deserves Nick’s kindness, he can’t fault Nick for wanting to learn more about DiMA. He’s the only synth Nick has ever seen remotely like him.

MacCready doesn’t think they’re very much alike at all. No matter what angle MacCready adopts, DiMA always looks monstrous to him, even if they have the same face. It's just an ugly mask on DiMA. And Nick...Nick’s Nick. He doesn’t know. Nick is beat up, torn, kinda worn down, but he’s handsome too, in his own way. And when he smiles, MacCready sometimes still forgets. 

He’s on his way up the stairs when Faraday is coming down. Faraday’s face is flushed and he’s not paying attention, bumping into MacCready and startling them both. Maybe that’s MacCready’s fault for not being more alert, he can’t just trust other people to know where it is they’re going, or pay attention to what should be right in front of their faces.

“Robert Joseph MacCready!” Faraday clips. 

MacCready thinks his full name like that sounds sort of weird, now. For a long time he was so proud of it, he’d rattle it off to anyone who asked. But he’s gotten accustomed to most everyone just calling him by his last name, or Nick calling him Robert.

“Um, yeah, Faraday,” MacCready tries.

Kasumi explained to them yesterday that Faraday is DiMA’s most trusted confidant. That he’s more open with Faraday than anyone else, even Chase. MacCready believes her, having met them both. While Faraday may not exactly display any particular social skills, Chase is colder, more detached. Obviously a Courser thing. 

And it’s not as if MacCready is a talkative one either. He can, if needed, but reading people is really more Nick’s thing. But this is an opportunity if MacCready ever saw one, and he has this sneaking suspicion he’s not really pulling his weight on this case. So if Faraday could open up to him, just a little? Maybe MacCready can get something worth using. 

The color on Faraday’s cheeks darkens. That’s weird. Really weird. Faraday is supposed to be a synth. He hasn’t even had his memory wiped or anything, remembering his time at the Institute. But everything about his body language says he’s incredibly nervous to be standing on the stairs here with MacCready. It's way, way too human.

Faraday is on the higher step, which makes him even more ridiculously tall. MacCready hops up two steps to try and even them out, but even so, he’s keenly aware of Faraday being tall and broad, even if there doesn’t look to be an ounce of fat on him. Why would synths need fat anyway? Why does the Institute need synths at all?

“So…” MacCready tries to think of something to say, anything, really. “What’s it like, working on modifications for DiMA?” He’s terrible at this. Utterly terrible, and he knows it. He might as well slap a neon sign on his forehead that they know something about DiMA is fishy and they’re rooting around for information.

But as bad as MacCready might be, turns out Faraday is worse. He stumbles slowly through his sentences, though he manages to only say the words he needs. “If we may...speak...privately?” 

Though MacCready feels the edges of suspicion, running cold along his spine, he nods, following Faraday when he takes the next step down.

“My office,” Faraday offers, though he leaves MacCready no alternatives.

He lets MacCready in first. The room is bare other than a cot in the corner, a crate, and a computer desk with two terminals side by side. Faraday called this his office, but it’s clearly his sleeping quarters too. Do the human-y synths like Faraday actually sleep? They must, if they’re supposed to be indistinguishable from humans. MacCready doesn’t really know. The only synth he knows, really is Nick, and he’s supposed to be weird. But the way Faraday paces the room is weird too. He offers MacCready the only chair.

“There is a question, I must ask. I want to ask.” Faraday wrings his hands together.

MacCready wishes, hopelessly, that he had brought his sidearm with him. He’s cornered in this room with a synth who is much larger than him. Far as he can tell, Faraday doesn’t carry a weapon, and he doesn’t act like he has much combat experience. But he probably has fifty, sixty pounds on MacCready. Sometimes, that can be enough. 

“Sure,” MacCready keeps his voice as even as he can manage.

“Excuse me, but your accommodations are next to mine.”

Oh. Well. He’d thought they’d been quiet last night. And the walls of Acadia don’t look particularly thin, but it’s not like MacCready knows how well sound carries here, more than that, Faraday might have super-synth hearing or something. Just because all of Nick’s senses are starting to go, doesn’t mean that other synths aren’t more advanced. They’re almost certainly more advanced. 

“Sorry? It won’t happen again?” MacCready isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond. On some level he’s embarrassed. Okay, yeah, he’s embarrassed. It just hits him in a stinging wave. Certainly now, he’s as red as Faraday.

“No!” Faraday interjects, which is about as weird of a statement as anyone could make under the circumstances. Because, what? Faraday is some sort of pervert who is really, really into listening to MacCready and Nick...wait.

MacCready’s eyes go wide in realization. 

“I meant to say,” Faraday corrects himself, tugging at his labcoat and only succeeding in turning it more askew. “I have a….deep affection…”

There’s no way. MacCready doesn’t want to have this conversation, it’s not worth it.

“For DiMA.”

Of course he does. Could tell that from a mile away. Right.

“I never thought that my feelings of admiration, or friendship were odd.”

Listening in silence, MacCready wishes he could find something to say to make this stop. He’s not going to have anything to say afterwards.

“But the physical attraction,” Faraday’s language turns almost clinical. “I’ve known for some time the feelings of arousal that accompany my closeness to him. I thought those odd, given his physicality. But you…” Faraday waits for MacCready to respond.

His tongue is like lead. “Yeah,” MacCready looks into his empty hands.

“And Nick Valentine,” Faraday’s voice hitches, the emotion returning. “He reciprocates?”

MacCready bites back his groan. “Yeah, he does.” Maybe opening up a little will gain Faraday’s trust?

“I thought myself so strange,” Faraday admits, shaking his head. 

MacCready wants nothing more than to shout that he is. He's strange. They both are.

“How did you convince him?” Faraday’s voice goes soft.

The memory is so vivid. The night at Oberland Station, when Nick walked him away from the lights of the settlement. He already knew what Nick felt like inside, warm cabling and the hum of artificial life. When Nick dipped his head to kiss him, MacCready gripped the lapels of Nick’s coat until his knuckles turned white. Because somewhere along the line, he'd managed to forget all this was real. Even if he did already know.

Maybe that was the night everything had started to go wrong, too.

MacCready stamps down his memories of “the Sole Survivor.”

He's got to say something to Faraday, who looks at him with a mixture of awe and trepidation. As if MacCready has managed to do something that breaks the laws of the universe or something. But all he's ever done is fall in love.

“It's not that complicated,” he admits. 

Faraday frowns.

\--

Nick hasn't been with DiMA. MacCready’s relieved. He can't stop Nick from talking with the synth, but that doesn't mean he has to like it either.

Nick is seated in one of the cobbled together living spaces, speaking quietly with two of the Acadia residents. A man and a woman. MacCready tries to remember their names. Cog? That might be the man. Jule is the woman. MacCready is almost sure. Or is it Jules? 

He stands back, waiting for Nick to finish, rather than interrupting. Watching the other residents go about their day, he loses track of time.

Nick puts his hand on MacCready’s shoulder, jolting him out of his daze. MacCready looks up and forces a smile, which only makes Nick frown.

“Doesn't suit you,” Nick teases.

MacCready rolls his eyes. “Yeah well, we have to work with what we've been given. Or how we’ve been assembled.”

He won't admit to it aloud, because there's no point. But sometimes MacCready wonders what the woman who gave birth to him looked like. Sometimes he thinks about the man who got her pregnant. Who is responsible for his eyes, his nose, his build, his laugh, the fact he can never get warm.

(Lucy always said it was their diet that kept them so small. But eating would always be better than not eating. And the soup got them through many years.)

And then it dawns on him, thinking back on what DiMA said yesterday, that Nick never recognized himself. That Nick and DiMA are copies of each other.

Nick doesn't look like Nikolai Valentine.

He keeps his revelation to himself. Nick must already know, so there's no point in rehashing.

“We should head out,” Nick leads them back to their temporary quarters to gather up their things.

“Where to first?”

“Back to Far Harbor,” Nick grabs his laser rifle from where it leans against the wall. “I don't like the sound of this missing synth. And we know Kasumi is safe for now.”

“Right,” MacCready finds it hard to not offer his opinion. He's not a mercenary any more. Hasn't been one for months. But he still finds himself biting his tongue when he objects.

They're unaccosted as they head for the door. Outside, the day is foggy, though the line starts further down the hill, where the fog condensers are running unceasingly.

“Hold on one second,” Nick grabs MacCready’s shoulder, holding him back before he can descend the stairs.

“What?”

From his pack, Nick pulls out a rubber gas mask. It's old, of course it is, it's pre-War. But it looks in excellent condition. “You should wear this.”

MacCready scoffs, “I'm fine. I got here, didn't I?” He eyes the mask. It will just be so stuffy inside.

Nick shakes his head, “The fog makes people forget. They forget where they are, what they're doing, they forget who they are. Please, Robert.” He holds the mask out.

MacCready puts his hands on it, but doesn't accept, not yet. “How do we know this will help.”

Grimacing, Nick replies, “We know it won't hurt.”

MacCready makes a show of sighing deeply before taking the mask from Nick’s hands. This thing was designed for poisonous gasses, chemical warfare. Maybe it won't work against the fog, which no one can properly explain to them anyway. 

Tugging on the mask, MacCready finds it a little too large, but the neck should still be tight enough to seal. Before he can get it down all the way, while it's stuck somewhere around his nose, he feels the press of Nick’s lips against his. His eyes are nowhere near the holes, so he doesn't see the sneak attack coming.

MacCready smiles, but doesn't say anything until the mask is firmly in place. “You think it's an improvement, don't you?

Nick shrugs his shoulders, “Not as if anything could make your mug worse.” He throws his arm around MacCready’s shoulders as they head down the stairs.

\--

They find the missing synth in pieces, scattered out across the first floor of a caved in house a group of Trappers commandeered. They say he tasted delicious. They were saving the rest for later.

The fog has made them slow on the draw, and MacCready wounds the two closest Trappers before the third can react. The unharmed Trapper lunges towards MacCready before either he or Nick can get a bullet in him.

Dropping his sidearm, Nick aims his rifle instead. It's a dumb move, to leave his 10mm unattended on the floor, but he empties eight laser shots into the Trapper that takes MacCready to the ground.

MacCready hates close-quarters combat. The Trapper smells of fish and rot. His heaviness makes it difficult for MacCready to breathe in the few seconds he keeps MacCready pinned. Then he goes slack.

The Trapper doesn't ash, so MacCready has to push his body off of his to get out. The other two are screaming, not yet dead. MacCready knows he got one in the head, but a small caliber bullet like that doesn't always kill in one shot.

By the time he scrambles to his feet, MacCready can see Nick ash one of them, Putting them out of the misery of a slow death. MacCready finishes the other one with a second bullet from his 10mm. And the room is quiet.

The missing synth’s head is perched on the desk like a trophy. Its eyes closed and mouth open. MacCready doesn't bother to look away. In the grand scheme of things, it's not so horrific a sight.

They're both splattered in blood, and Nick is coated in a fine layer of iridescent ash that sticks to the moisture.

“Should we bring back proof for Chase?” There's more than one ribcage on the floor, but the other is picked too clean, been sitting out too long. The second one is fleshier, and MacCready can see the glint of a component inside.

They look just like humans. Even on the inside. 

MacCready cracks his knuckles while he waits for Nick to step over. With a heavy sigh, Nick crouches down, pulling a knife from his waistband to cut free the synth component to give to Chase.


	6. Travel by New Maps Drawn in Vanishing Tides

The Children of Atom want little to do with Nick. They're polite enough, considering the execution MacCready and Nick just witnessed, saying that the Children mean no direct harm to the synths of Acadia. Open war with their neighbors serves no one. Grand Zealot Richter frowns softly, reiterating that there is no place inside the Nucleus for those unable to accept Atom’s gift.

Everyone ignores the dead Brother on the ground, his body stiffening as death creeps through his limbs. He was a traitor. That’s what the Children said. 

They have to get inside. Without access to DiMA’s memories, they can't prove anything. Without proof, nothing on the island changes.

Nick’s still trying to reason with Richter, that a girl’s life is at stake here. That's not strictly true anymore, they know Kasumi is mostly safe. “Besides, even if I can't walk in Atom’s Light, we can still help each other?”

MacCready thinks Richter hesitates. As if he wants to say yes, but must say no. Nick cannot join the Children. Richter’s eyes skate towards MacCready, who has, up until this point, said nothing, then back again to Nick’s eyes, glowing softly.

“But I could join, right?” MacCready speaks up. It's not as if he has to believe in their unreasonable Atom, right? Doesn't have to swallow it hook, line, and sinker. He's just gotta convince them he believes. MacCready throws up his hands, “Oh great, powerful Atom! Let me walk in your cloud of radiation until I grow twelve fingers and twelve toes!” On one level, MacCready knows that won't fly, on another, he's pretty sure Richter has no pretensions about their sincerity to join the cult. Something is amiss inside the Nucleus, and Richter wants them to find it, correct it. They've just got to tick the right boxes to appeal to Richter’s sense of law.

Lifting up the gas mask just enough, MacCready shows Richter his face, proving best he can that he’s human.

Richter winces, “Yes, you could join, boy. But you still must undertake the ritual required of Initiates.”

“Fine, okay,” MacCready doesn't hesitate. So what, they'll have him jump through some arbitrary hoops before they can get inside. “But if I'm a member, Nick can come with me?”

Nodding slowly, Richter says, “He can accompany you, yes.”

“Awesome, okay.”

“Robert,” Nick objects, “you don't have to do this.” Of course he doesn't have to. But if this will get them closer to the truth about DiMA, MacCready is ready to weather this ritual. Besides, after all the talk in Far Harbor about the Children of Atom, he's maybe a little curious about whatever nefarious plot they've got brewing inside. Richter’s behavior makes the whole thing fishier.

The Children of Atom were a constant presence in the Capital too, so MacCready isn't totally ignorant of their beliefs. But up here? This is a level of organization, and from the looks of the Grand Zealot, militarization, MacCready hasn't seen before, either in the Capital or the Commonwealth.

Richter points them in the right direction for this initiation ritual. MacCready pulls out the Pipboy tablet he swiped from Acadia, ignoring the disapproving grunt from Nick. In his fingerless gloves, he manages to navigate the cursor to roughly where Richter describes this spring or whatever being located. Once MacCready thinks he's got the right place, he holds up the tablet for Richter to double check.

“Yes,” Richter nods, “that's the place. You must drink from the spring, it will show you the way.”

Both MacCready and Nick keep their mouths closed. It's not like Richter is going to check if MacCready actually drinks, right?

“There will be one of our Sisters there to assist you.”

Well...forget that idea.

Nick, ever polite, unless someone gives him a reason not to be, thanks Richter for his help. Leaving the Nucleus behind, they're careful not to say anything too incriminating until they're well out of earshot.

“Robert, this isn't something you should be doing,” Nick’s voice is full of soft concern, almost makes MacCready hate it. He can make his own decisions.

MacCready scoffs, “You can't, so it's gotta be me.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his duster, the fabric of his sweater bunching up around his forearms. 

There's no return argument that Nick can conjure, so they follow the path to the spring. Maybe they’ll luck out and this Sister won't be there, MacCready can just say he drank from this “mystical” spring and they can get back on track with finding DiMA’s memories. 

While they're quite certain they're alone, Nick drapes his arm over MacCready’s shoulder. He can maintain tension in his arm so that he doesn't weigh MacCready down any, just keeps him warm and close as they make their way deeper into the forest. 

The fog thickens as they approach the spring. MacCready’s gas mask keeps out the dense cloud, but he's still not sure it blocks the rads. The Geiger counter in the tablet starts buzzing, harsh and unceasing. MacCready finds the switch to stop the noise. It's only serving to make Nick worry.

“Have you taken your rad-x?” Nick pulls his arm back, in case the Sister is there to spot them. They’re close now.

MacCready nods, “Another hour.”

“You should redose before you drink.” Fiddling in his coat pocket, Nick pulls out his pack of cigarettes. They haven't encountered any local wildlife recently, and if the Sister has been here, the surrounding area is probably clear.

As they approach the shrine and spring, MacCready notices the Sister, hunched over in mumbling prayer. Maybe she's so out of it, delusional with rad poisoning, MacCready can fake drinking from the spring. Save his own hide. 

But she turns sharply when she hears their footsteps approaching. “Child, have you come to seek Atom’s guidance?” She smiles, her lips almost the same tone as her yellowed skin. She's not pale, but she is anemic, frail, with little ruddiness to her coloring. While she is probably not terribly old, her skin is drawn tight over the frame of her cheekbones.

“Uh, yeah,” MacCready answers.

“Let me see your face?” She pushes herself up off the ground, shaky on her feet. With one gnarled hand, she reaching forward towards MacCready’s mask.

He takes a step back, before he can touch her, and pulls off the gas mask himself. 

“Ah,” she comments. “Once you drink, you will not have to fear the fog sickness anymore. Your mind will be made clear.”

“Sure,” MacCready says, handing his mask off to Nick to hold. 

The sister watches him intensely as he approaches the stream. Cupping his hands, he lets the water flow through his fingers. The crunch of boots behind him reminds MacCready that he's not in this alone. Nick is here with him.

“You don't have to,” Nick’s voice is just so, so sad. A resignation that he can't shake. 

MacCready knows he wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for Nick. He's not gonna pretend he's a good enough man to follow this case on his own. But Nick has given him so much, Nick who has his back; Nick who has always been a light in the dark; Nick who loves him. So MacCready doesn't tell Nick he's doing this for him. He'd only worry is ugly mug.

He brings the water to his mouth, drinking enough that the Sister won't question his commitment. It's cool and crisp and tastes like metal at the back of MacCready’s throat.

Stepping back from the spring, he feels no different. At first, at first. But then the tips of his fingers and toes sparkle in tense excitement, then shoot up his extremities to his spine. 

This isn't rad poisoning. He's been radsick before. After Lucy died. Because he was young and an idiot and didn't pay well enough attention about how to stay clean. And the ghouls, the ghouls who scraped against his skin.

“Follow, follow.”

She calls for him. And the electricity in his limbs makes his steps light. Lighter than the voice behind him that calls, “Robert?”

“Follow, come.”

MacCready runs.

Heavier footsteps follow behind him, keeping pace with slower, longer strides.

“I can show you where you belong,” she promises.

“Yes,” MacCready croaks. His throat is so dry.

She is water. 

He is ten years old.

“I can do it. I'll be the best fucking mayor Little Lamplight has ever seen!” he shouts. “Just you watch, Lucy. I'll make everything better.”

The ghost has Lucy’s face, Lucy’s smile, as she turns back over her shoulder. But it's wrong. Lucy didn't smile that day. She called him a prideful idiot, but said she'd help him, if he won the election. Because there was no way Little Lamplight would survive if she wasn't there to advise him. 

“Then why didn't you run for mayor?” MacCready asks the ghost, who is, and is not, Lucy.

“I always believed in you, darling.”

She didn't. Not-Lucy is wrong, but her words are so sweet.

MacCready mouths the words himself. “I'm the only one who can be the doctor. Anyone can be mayor. Even you.”

The ghost runs ahead and MacCready pushes his legs faster so that he can catch up. But she's always just out of reach, the wispy-dark tendrils of her dress dissipating into smoke.

She becomes thinner, more translucent, as the steps between them widen. MacCready’s boots get caught in the overgrowth. His feet are wet. The footsteps behind him loud. But they don't call out to him again. All his attention is directed forward.

“You're such an asshole, you little shit,” the voice snickers. He hasn't heard it in ten years. “Good for you.”

In front of him, the smoke shifts, another form, another memory. Stocky, but still without hard lines and definition, the ghost turns around. He stops.

“How am I supposed to help you?” The Lone Wanderer's voice is strained, just on the edge of bursting. 

“We don't need your help,” MacCready barks back, his feet stopping.

He can feel the force behind him now, solid and warm at his back. It stops just short of touching him. He wishes it would take him away from this vision. Why?

“I was at Big Town,” the Lone Wanderer shakes his head, his hair already floating away, curling into his next form. “A lot of your friends...they're hurt. I'm sorry.”

His clunky combat boots are the last point to fade away, the laces curl into Lucy’s hair.

“Follow, follow. I will show you his light,” she runs.

MacCready doesn't, staying locked into place. “STOP USING HER FACE!”

Lucy never believed in spirits. In Atom, in God. She believed in science, and intellect, and herself.

The apparition shimmers again, losing the particularities of Lucy, becoming ambiguous. Only then, does MacCready follow her.

He knows this can't be real. The way the edges of the world blur. The deep, acid green of the sky. He knows it’s not Lucy who leads him deeper into the fog-choked forest. And the Lone Wanderer, the Lone Wanderer is probably dead. By the time MacCready left the Commonwealth, it had been years since anyone had even heard of him. 

MacCready knows all these things, but it doesn’t matter. At the base of his skull, his impulse tells him to follow.

Follow.

Branches scrape against his coat as the path narrows. He can barely breathe, lungs flaming with exertion. Though he hasn’t smoked in years, his chest feel charred when he inhales. He breathes again, his vision going dark before light springs before his eyes, brilliant and bright.

“You’ve arrived, child.”

“Where?”

The glowing on is on him faster than the weight at his back can pull him away. 

The ghoul jumps on him, knocking him to the damp ground. His spine hits a stone on the packed-earth floor, sending numb shockwaves through his body. For seconds he cannot move as the ghoul crawls over him. He only recovers fast enough to cover his face, the monster clawing at his body, ripping away the fabric of his sweater, tearing until it hits skin. His arms are wet with blood before the first laser cuts through the air, hitting the ghoul in the head.

The ghoul shrieks in pain, pulling its rasping fingers away from MacCready’s face. Calling out wordlessly again, it pulses radiation with enough force that MacCready cannot lift his head. The weight of its body keeps him pinned, and the light of its terror illuminates the fading evening.

The laser rifle strikes the ghoul again, though this time it is the butt of the gun smashing into the glowing one’s skull. Again and again and again.

His voice calls, sounding more distant than it really is. His voice. Who is he?

“Bobby! Bobby! Fuck!”

With the glowing well felled, he must turn his rifle to the oncoming ghouls, wakened by the overwhelming jolt of radiation given off just moments before. They lumber, gaining speed in the face of opposition.

“Shit, shit,” the precision of reloading the rifle is comforting in its regularity.

Nick. The voice is Nick.

MacCready lets his head go limp against the wet earth. But he has to get up. He has to help fight. There are too many ghouls. They’ll be swarmed. He’ll fail. He’ll fail again. He has to stand. He has to!

The sky is still too green to be true. The apparition has faded, the shimmering shadow who brought him here. And all this time, Nick followed. MacCready’s mouth still tastes like metal. His arms are damp. Pushing himself up, he reaches for his sidearm, tucked against his hip. Ghouls go down easy when you shoot them between the eyes.

But his arms won’t listen to his brain, a spike of pain searing through them every time he dares to move an inch. The adrenaline is keeping him from passing out, but he’s losing blood. His arms are shredded to ribbons, flesh peeling away from bone. He has to help fight.

His fingers won’t curl around the grip of his pistol. All he can manage is to roll onto his side. Once his cheek is against the dirt, his stomach won’t hold, emptying the contents of his stomach. His stomach won’t stop seizing. The world is so, so loud, roaring.

As the noise clears, he realizes Nick is at his side, crouched down low to rifle through MacCready’s bag. MacCready barely registers the prick of the stimpack needle, inserted into his shoulder.

Quietly, Nick mumbles, “Close as I can get for now. Let’s get another in your hand.” He takes MacCready’s hand in his metal one, holding it still while he uses the soft hand to administer the stimpak into the center of MacCready’s palm. Nick rubs his thumb over the needle prick once he withdraws the syringe, bringing MacCready’s hand to his lips to kiss over the speck of blood.

“Tired,” MacCready mumbles.

Nick has to roll him to his other side to administer stimpaks to MacCready’s other arm.

“I know, Bobby, you lost a lot of blood,” Nick’s voice is calm, even. “But stay with me a little while longer, yeah?” Nick starts tugging at MacCready’s duster, trying to get it off his shoulders. “I think I’ve gotten all the ghouls, but we need to move as soon as we can.” He gets the duster off, then uses his pocket knife to cut through what’s left of MacCready’s sweater, removing layer by layer until MacCready’s chest and arms are bare. “I fucked up.”

“No, no, no,” MacCready mumbles, his lips and face feeling fuzzier, like there are marbles in his jaw, rolling around as the tension leaves him. “I, where?”

“You’ll be alright,” Nick says. MacCready can’t tell anymore how sincere he is. He can barely register the words. 

Nick waits until MacCready’s arms are mostly stitched by the stims before trying to get him to his feet, “Let’s see if I have to carry you.”

“Can walk,” MacCready slurs.

But the next thing he knows he’s floating, his feet up off the ground and his arms wrapped around Nick’s neck. Nick’s not this strong. Not like, robot strong. Then again, MacCready knows, though he doesn’t like admitting it, that he’s not so very big. So Nick doesn’t have to be robot strong to lift him. He tucks his head in at Nick’s shoulder, trying to get his eyes focused again. Even with his wounds healing, the blood he’s lost keeps him from being able to clear his mind.

“I guess we’re going back to the fucking Nucleus,” Nick curses, “at least I can get you into a bed there. You need radaway.”

“Need you.”

“Yeah,” Nick squeezes MacCready closer to his chest. “Need you too.”

\--

When MacCready wakes again, he doesn’t recognize the ceiling. Not at all. He’s laid out in a strange bed, an IV stuck into the biggest vein in the back of his hand, his arms bandaged all the way from wrist to elbow, then again from elbow almost to his shoulder. He’s cold, the thin blanket not enough to keep him warm. 

He manages to lift his head, look around. Nick is in seated in a folding chair, and as soon as MacCready starts moving, he’s on his feet, coming to the side of the bed and crouching down low. Nick looks side to side before brushing his soft hand through MacCready’s hair.

“Where are we?” MacCready asks.

“Inside the Nucleus. Sister Yeats confirmed that you drank from the spring. That was enough for Richter to let us in.”

MacCready shifts again so he can sit up in the cot. The tube in his hand is annoying, but he hesitates to pull it out. “Radaway? Aren’t they against this stuff?”

Nick shakes his head, “Doc says they know not everyone is ‘chosen by Atom’ in the same way. It’s not against their beliefs for those who aren’t naturally resistant to rads to cure sickness. Said it’s so they can rad-dose again and again. Just another way to serve.”

“It wasn’t just rad poisoning,” MacCready brings one hand to touch his face. There’s still sensation in his hands. His arms had been so shredded by that ghoul. He could have lost them…

“Some sort of hallucinogen? You kept talking to someone.”

“Yeah, she kept wearing my wife’s face. I didn’t want...I wanted her to give it back.” MacCready realizes he’s not making much sense. “It doesn’t mean anything. The spring water is just contaminated.”

Nick nods. There are footsteps outside the doorway. Standing, Nick takes a step back, putting a more reasonable distance between friends. “The High Confessor wants to see you, once you’re well enough. But from the tone of his voice, probably before you’re actually well enough.”

“I’m okay,” MacCready tugs at the tubing he’s attached to. He’s not an invalid, and is embarrassed enough that the ghoul took him down so easily, that he couldn’t get to his gun, that he ended up with mashed up brahminburger for arms. 

“Robert, it’s three in the morning. Go back to sleep. We’ll see him first thing, if you’re up to it.”

“Oh,” MacCready hadn’t realized. He slips back down in the bed, letting his head rest against the pillow. Reaching out, he lets his fingers brush against Nick’s hand before drifting back into sleep.


	7. You Used to Talk About Your Problems, Now Your Problems Talk About You

With his sweater ruined, MacCready has to make due with a set of cultist’s robes. They drag along the floor, and they're not as heavy as he would like, but at least the sleeves hang loose enough as to not disturb his bandages. He wouldn't be caught dead outside dressed like this. But for now, it'll have to do.

Nick fusses over him too much, helping him out of bed once he's managed to lace up his boots unassisted. The walk across the shoddy catwalks to the High Confessor’s chamber isn't far, and the ghouls didn't do much to wreck his legs.

Before they leave the clinic, MacCready makes sure to shove his sidearm into the pocket of the robe. He doesn't want to be caught unarmed, even if he's one of them now. It's only a technicality that he belongs. And, after all, the first thing he and Nick witnessed upon arriving at the Nucleus was one Brother killing another.

Nick eventually gets the idea that MacCready’s got no problem walking and takes half a step to the side, putting distance between them. MacCready already knows he's got to do the talking here. As far as the High Confessor goes, MacCready is the new disciple, and Nick’s just a hanger-on. Poor soul will never really know Atom’s glow.

A Zealot stands watch over the High Confessor’s door, a gamma rifle like MacCready has never seen before in her hands. But wouldn't getting shot with that be like, a blessing to a cultist? Whatever, MacCready doesn't really have to think about that. Though it’s awfully telling that Tektus is afraid of his own people.

Stepping inside the chambers, MacCready gets a good look at the exits, one behind Tektus’ throne and two more ladders leading down deeper into the bowels of the stranded submarine. But there's no way of knowing where they lead, they'd just end up cornered if they run that way, searching desperately for an escape hatch. 

There's no use following that train of thought either. From what Nick found on Faraday’s terminal, DiMA’s memories are stored somewhere upstairs, not in the sub itself. 

“Child,” Tektus commands, “Come, let me get a look at you.”

MacCready hadn't even realized that his feet are sticking in the archway. Taking a step inside, he makes room for Nick to enter as well. He keeps his hands folded in front of him, trying to look less a threat than he knows he is.

“The Grand Zealot said you drank, that you returned badly injured.” The High Confessor’s eyes are piercing, sharp, though MacCready swears he smells of stale decay. The tattoos that cut across his face attest to his commitment to the faith. MacCready can't even really imagine believing in something, anything, to the point of utter absurdity.

MacCready wishes Nick would just speak for him, but he has to the one to talk. “Yeah,” MacCready tugs at the front of his robes, “there was a figure, a woman,” MacCready leaves a great deal out. There hasn't even been the time to tell Nick what he saw. Even if there were time, he's not sure he would share. The images are still too raw, unprocessed, and right now, MacCready has no will to parse them.

“The Mother of the Fog?” And for a second, there is something unfocused about Tektus’ gaze. As if he is reviewing every lie he has ever heard, measuring each in turn. But just as soon, it's gone again, his gaze directed, almost mechanical. “No one has seen her for a long time, child.” Tektus shakes his head, “And yet, she came to you. What did she say?”

MacCready searches for something to say that won't leave him bare. “To follow her.”

“Where?”

“I don't know?” MacCready really doesn't. Maybe if he had his Pipboy tablet he could check, but he didn't think to bring it, it’s back in the clinic. “There were ghouls?”

Tektus’ frustration with MacCready’s half-answer is apparent. He barks, “You must find it again. There must have been a reason she came to you.”

Defensively, MacCready takes a step back. He bumps into Nick’s chest. He had no idea Nick is so close. When they make contact, Nick’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Then it's gone.

“We’ll go back, Nick will remember where it is,” he looks over his shoulder. MacCready has no idea if Nick will be able to find the place again, but it doesn’t really matter. Once they get what they need, they never have to come back to the Nucleus. Once they have what they need, they can get off this forsaken island. 

Tektus appears to settle, sitting back on his chair and folding his hands together. “Thank you, child. And in the meantime, I’m sure there are others of the faith you may help, if you wish to prove your loyalty.”

“Yeah, alright,” MacCready is ready to get out of there, turning on his heels as soon as he gets the slightest indication that Tektus is finished with him. 

But before he can get out the door, the High Confessor says he has one more task for his newest believer. “A sensitive matter, best suited for someone of your talents, Brother Robert.” He holds out a slip of paper for MacCready to take.

MacCready doesn't have the option of shunning Tektus now. “MacCready,” he corrects, reaching for the note, “I prefer MacCready to Robert.”

“Oh?” Tektus leans back against his chair, “the other children say your companion calls you Robert.” His eyes, for the first time, flick to Nick. “A traitor within our ranks,” Tektus continues, as if nothing strange has passed between them. “Their name,” he nods towards the note.

MacCready doesn’t breathe with any ease until they’re back in the clinic. He feels the wheezing breath in in lungs, but no matter how much air he sucks down, he still feels light headed and dizzy. It could be leftover from the rad poisoning or it could just be fear. So many variables are still unknown.

Nick unfurls MacCready’s tightly clenched fist to pull Tektus’ note out. He's uncharacteristically cold, letting MacCready’s fingers snap closed once he has the paper. But it's for both of their safety. Tektus’ comment makes clear enough that someone has their suspicions. 

Reading over the note, Nick says nothing before folding it back up to hand to MacCready. While MacCready isn’t exactly calm, he manages to unfold the note for himself. All it says is “Sister Aubert.”

“What do you think we should do?” MacCready starts to shred the note, tearing it up into a fine confetti. Once the paper is in tatters, he drops the remains into his glass of water. He’ll flush it down the toilet before they leave. 

Nick shakes his head. They can’t talk here. Of course not, MacCready is new, untrustworthy himself. Even if he did see this Lady in his drug-fueled hallucination, that doesn’t absolve the fact the Children of Atom know next to nothing about him. MacCready whispers, though it might not be subtle enough. “They’ll kill her.”

Nick nods. That’s enough for them to decide. They don’t have a lot of time to dedicate to this, but they can spare enough, if she’s willing to listen. Leaving the clinic, MacCready asks the first Sister he sees about Aubert, getting directions to her quarters. 

They head back into the Vessel, sidestepping encountering Tektus again and slipping below without incident. Each cultist’s door has their name affixed to the front. MacCready knocks on Aubert’s. She doesn’t answer.

The handle gives when MacCready tries it. Slipping inside her room, MacCready looks around in the low light. Nick doesn’t follow him in. MacCready knows they have to still get to DiMA’s computer. That’s their priority. But he doesn’t want to see Aubert die.

When did he start caring so much about other people?

MacCready’s not really looking for clues. If anything, he wants to find something that will exonerate her. Digging around in an ammo box, he finds a pile of letters, tied together with twine. They’re only half of a conversation, but what is there is damning, at least to someone as paranoid as Tektus. 

This Edgar person seems to really care for her. Then the next note confirms Edgar is dead. Aubert thinks Tektus responsible. If Edgar was killed over a friendship with Martin, the last High Confessor, Aubert is well and truly in trouble.

MacCready searches the room for a pen. On the back of Aubert’s letter he simply writes. “LEAVE.” He has no way of knowing if it will be enough. If Aubert will be the next one to find the letter, or someone else will get to her first. He puts the letters back into the box.

Slipping out the door, MacCready doesn’t see Nick anywhere. But he doesn’t worry. It would be too suspicious to hang out outside of Aubert’s door without a reason. Sticking his hands into the pockets of his borrowed robes, MacCready heads back upstairs. Only taking his hands out to ascend the ladder, before putting them back into his pockets. Tektus says nothing to him as he passes.

Nick joins back up with MacCready as he passes the clinic. At that point, MacCready lets Nick lead. They’re back on track for accessing DiMA’s computer. Hopefully without additional delays.

The Nucleus isn’t densely packed with people. But there is clutter everywhere. They’ve made plans for many more cultists than those who currently reside here. Extra beds and rooms and stacks of robes for the newly initiated. Their eyes are on expansion. 

Looking up, MacCready tries to access the catwalk over their heads. How does someone even get up there? The rafters are the best position in the building, if there were to be a firefight. With enough ammunition, MacCready might be able to take the whole place himself, were he up there. Unless someone has a slingshot or a really good arm and could hit the wooden bits with a molotov. But even then, with careful navigation, he might be able to stick to the metal understructure, avoiding the fire almost entirely.

They take the ramshackle elevator up a floor. Nick seems to have a pretty good idea where they’re going. There is a guard at the entrance to the next room. Nick pushes MacCready forward. Right, he’s supposed to do the talking here.

“What’s on the other side of the door?” he asks.

The Zealot shrugs, “Robots. My job is to keep them from coming out.”

“So I can go in?” MacCready asks.

The Zealot seems to consider MacCready’s request. “They’re dangerous. I’m supposed to shoot them on sight. But there’s nothing in my orders about keeping people from going in.”

MacCready shrugs his shoulders, “I’m good with robots,” he deliberately looks back at Nick, who keeps his face impassive. 

“Knock yourself out, Brother. But I’m not responsible for you.”

But they’re not assaulted with bots as soon as they enter. The room is dimly lit, the door closing behind them the loudest sound. In front of them is a row of laser tripwires. Maybe a dozen in all. MacCready can disarm them one by one, but Nick takes over again, now that they’re in private, stepping up to the closest terminal and running his fingers over the keys.

MacCready doesn’t ask him what he’s doing. They’ve barely said a word to each other since leaving Tektus. Maybe that’s what’s safest. These rooms could be bugged. There could be cameras. MacCready is finding it hard to breathe again.

He watches as the tripwires flicker out one by one. Nick’s fingers are still at the keyboard. “I can’t turn off the security bots from here. You have your pistol?” Nick pulls out his laser pistol.

“Yeah,” MacCready’s mouth is dry. He licks over his lips to moisten them. While he doesn’t have his rifle, maybe he can pick up something bigger as they move through the facility. The Wasteland is never short of weapons. And even if they’re in poor condition, MacCready can make the best of them. 

Nick’s eyes are always moving, looking for the next terminal up ahead. But they make the mistake of not looking behind them, and a turret on the opposite wall starts firing once they’ve passed through the deactivated lasers. Instinctively, MacCready turns, getting off two shots before Nick can even react. The turret hisses down, too damaged to be a danger.

MacCready stands watch while Nick goes at the next terminal, his back hunched over the monitor. There’s a chair at the desk, but Nick doesn’t take the time to sit down. They have to work faster than the security bots can respond. And the noise from the turret hasn’t done them any favors. 

Giving the all clear, Nick steps down the next corridor. There’s a Mr. Gutsy hovering silently against one wall. Nick must have given it orders to stand down. While the burner is running, keeping it elevated in the air, it’s otherwise unresponsive to their approach.

“Hold on a second, okay?” MacCready spots what looks to be a small barracks just off the main tunnel. There are footlockers for each cot. Maybe some of the soldiers who slept here kept contraband worth having. Really, he’s most interested in something sturdier than his 10mm.

Nick watches the door while MacCready rifles through each locker. There are things his sticky fingers would like to grab, sure, but nothing that’s actually worth it. They need to be traveling light. In the third locker he manages to come up with a .44 pistol. It’s a slower rate of fire than the 10mm, and there’s recoil to consider, but MacCready still thinks the damage increase is worth it. At least, with his good aim, the damage is worth it.

He keeps the 10mm too, just in case, but holds the .44 as they move down the hallway. They don’t find any additional terminals before a locked gate.

“Wait for my signal,” Nick says. As if MacCready is one just to rush in, guns blazing. He types for a moment more before withdrawing his hands from the keys. “There’s an Assaultron inside. I can’t disable it from here.”

Close quarters combat with a bot like that doesn’t play to either of their strengths. MacCready isn’t packing the kind of firepower to take it down quickly. There isn’t the space inside, from what he can see through the door, to put distance between himself and the Assaultron. Nick won’t fare much better. He can take more hits than MacCready does, but a specialized combat robot like that will turn him into scrap within minutes.

“If you can get close, can you hack it?” MacCready asks.

Nick nods, “But I’m not sure asking her on a date is exactly going to work.”

MacCready needs to improvise. “See that opposite wall,” he points to where there’s a closed door. “I’m going to run into there, hopefully it’s not locked. Once I’m inside, come up behind the Assaultron. You’ll have to be fast.”

“She’ll get you before you can cross the room.”

“Don’t underestimate what adrenaline can do for your self preservation instinct. Well, I guess you don’t have a way of knowing first hand.” MacCready stows away the .44. He won’t be shooting in this scenario. “Remember, wait until I’m inside. I’m guessing you’ll have about forty-five seconds before it breaks through the door.”

Nick swings his rifle onto his back, pulling a cable out of his pocket instead. He’ll have to plug directly into the other robot to hack it.

MacCready takes a deep breath. Kicking at the door, he makes as much noise as possible before running. Blood pounding between his ears, he has to listen for the sound of the Assaultron coming online. Once he hears the whirl of its canon, starting to charge, he falls to the floor, skidding along the tile towards the closet. Pain strikes through his already injured arms as he falls. The beam of light from the Assaultron blasts over top of his head, where his torso was a moment before.

Scrambling up from the floor, he grabs the handle to the closet door, yanking it open and throwing himself inside, not bothering to look at what it contains. There isn’t another option, just barring the door and waiting for Nick. The closet door doesn’t lock from the inside. Besides, the lock isn’t what’s going to prevent the Assaultron from getting in. It’s the recharge time on that fucking light cannon that’s going to keep him alive long enough for Nick to hack. Grabbing a short metal ladder from the opposite wall, he jams it under the doorknob to keep it shut. He can barely breathe as he waits. 

MacCready slides to the floor, so if a second blast melts the door, he might have enough time to defend himself before the third. But the robot will be through the door by then, able to shred him with his hands.

He can hear the cannon charging. He wants to cover his ears. Blot out the sound of his impending obliteration.

But the whirring stops. The Assaultron goes quiet. Nick must have done it. He must’ve.

“Robert?” Nick’s voice is clear as day from the other side.

“Nick?”

“We’re good.”

MacCready is so happy he could actually thank Atom. Almost.

By the time he gets the ladder out from underneath the door handle, Nick is already fussing at DiMA’s terminal. There’s a pod next to the bank of computers, not so different than the loungers at the Memory Den. 

Nick curses under his breath, before pushing away from the terminal. “I’m going in.”

“What?” MacCready questions. No part of this plan had Nick actually going into DiMA’s memories. Could that be safe? Their hardware is so similar. What if it...what if it rewrites Nick? What if Nick comes out a different man? MacCready sometimes has nightmares, that he’ll wake up next to Kellogg. That some sliver of that mercenary is buried deep inside of Nick, waiting to resurface. 

“Well it sure as hell can’t be you,” Nick says gruffly, stamping out his cigarette against the console. He turns away sharply and without another word, plugging himself into the lounger. 

MacCready balls his hands into fists. What is even wrong with Nick? He’s been acting weird since MacCready went into Aubert’s room. But warning her didn’t take any longer than twenty minutes. It didn’t put them that far behind. MacCready wants to scream at him, to get answers for what’s gone wrong. But, before he can say anything, Nick’s eyes go dark inside the lounger. He’s already gone.

MacCready smashes his fist into the wall, yelping as the pain blooms up the length of his arm. There’s nothing more for him to do but wait.

\--

Nick’s inside DiMA’s memories for hours. MacCready worries that something has broken. He worries Nick is never coming back. He worries he’ll be a pile of bones, waiting for another man to emerge from the lounger, one who doesn’t know him. Not the one who kisses him so soundly, MacCready thinks they have both lost their minds.

\--

A soft hand is at MacCready’s shoulder, urging him to wake. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he remembers where he is: DiMA’s control room at the Nucleus. How long has he been out? His stomach rumbles involuntarily. 

Nick laughs softly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how long I was in there.”

MacCready had fallen asleep in front of the terminal, his head on the desk. His back is sore from having fallen asleep hunched over. The anger he had before is mostly gone. Mostly. “Did you find what you needed?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d been drooling in his sleep.

“I think so. There are a couple of locations we should check.”

“Okay,” MacCready stands up, his stomach protesting again.

“I’m sorry,” Nick runs his soft hand over MacCready’s arm, “We should get you some food.”

MacCready shakes his head, “I’m fine, let’s get out of here before Tektus asks us to do something else.”

Nick nods in agreement. There’s a door nearby that looks like it might lead back out of the control room. MacCready has to go through first. The door lets them out onto the catwalks he was eyeing earlier. It takes them awhile to find a ladder down so that they can exit the Nucleus. Normally, MacCready wouldn’t be so disoriented. He’s slept, but he still feels tired, unmoored. He has a thousand questions for Nick, but he can’t really articulate any of them.

No one hassles them as they leave, but each person they pass calls MacCready “Brother.” They say nothing at all to Nick. Picking up their supplies from the clinic, they manage to leave without incident.

MacCready puts his gas mask on himself. The fog is low in the night air. They shouldn’t travel far, Trappers could be anywhere. But there’s exhaustion in MacCready’s bones. They just have to get safe. 

They manage to come to a small, mostly intact house. MacCready keeps his .44 drawn as they search every corner for threats. Once they find it acceptable, Nick insists they go upstairs. Hopefully the fog won’t rise.

There’s a mattress on a wireframe that MacCready can’t help but flop onto. Nick slides in beside him. He’ll stay awake to look for threats. But the simple fact he wants to share the space with MacCready is a reassurance he hasn’t had for awhile. Nick takes hold of MacCready’s gas mask, lifting it up just high enough to kiss him, then putting it back to cover his nose and mouth.

“You were so cold, in the command room,” MacCready mumbles. No one could see them there.

“I had a lot on my mind,” Nick strokes his hand over MacCready’s waist. He’s still wearing those horrible robes. “I’m sorry.”

“Started to think you didn’t want me anymore.”

Nick laughs softly, “You’re a hard habit to break.”

He’s tired, and Nick knows he’s tired, but that doesn’t stop Nick from slipping his hand up under MacCready’s robes. Finding his cock and stroking him to hardness. It’s weird, not being able to kiss Nick, or really see him. He’s got his face tucked up against Nick’s chest and it’s dark and the mask kills his peripheral vision. So it’s all just the sensation of Nick’s hand, working him underneath the borrowed robes. MacCready clutches to Nick’s shirt, trying to come away with something tangible. Something he can point to, saying this is mine. It’s not going away. But he remembers Nick is really numbers spinning in the air, snapping between circuits. MacCready wonders if he’s always lying to himself. And if really, it’s all that bad?


	8. The Odds of Being Wrong are Better than the Pain of Being and Time

Nick stays with his feet on dry land, holding the bow of the burned-out tugboat steady against the shore. The boat could crack open at any point, the timbers snapping with little warning, but at least Nick can keep the boat from accidentally drifting out to sea.

MacCready is careful as he steps inside the hull. They’re looking for a bunch of tapes or something Faraday said should be stashed aboard. All of them should be together in a canister, but he didn’t know exactly where on the boat they would be. 

Keeping his eyes on where he’s going, MacCready is cautious to not disturb the integrity of the boat. The last thing he wants is to end up in the sea. And this thing is barely holding it together. When the boat settles with his weight, he nearly screams. But he has to be the one who does this. At least he floats. Nick would just sink.

So much of the boat is wrecked by fire and water and time. MacCready has no idea how Faraday knows the tapes survived. MacCready starts picking through the metal boxes aboard, trying to locate what they’re looking for.

They’ve been criss-crossing the island for awhile now, following leads Nick picked up from DiMA’s memories, running odd jobs to keep up their reputation with the harborfolk, dodging questions from the Children of Atom. What started as a simple rescue mission has spiraled out of control. Neither of them are at fault. At least, MacCready doesn’t think so, but days have dragged into weeks. His mouth always tastes of rad-x.

MacCready’s birthday is tomorrow, but he hasn’t brought it up. He only knows because of the Pipboy tablet he’s been using to keep track of what they’re doing and what still needs to be done. He’s not sure Nick knows. It’s not important.

Bending over, MacCready hits a latch on a metal canister, checking to see if the contents are burned. There are two reels inside. But they don’t look like any holotape MacCready has ever seen. They’re something else. He grabs them up, then goes looking for the chest that is supposed to be aboard too.

He has a key that Nick handed him, said it should fit a lock somewhere on the boat. Nick didn’t tell him much more than that. 

The chest is up against one of the walls of the boat, cracked and charred. MacCready probably doesn’t even need the key, he could just kick in the side. How hot did the fire aboard burn to melt something so sturdy? Kneeling down, MacCready fits the key into the lock, opening up the chest. There’s a bunch of stuff inside, but Nick just told him to pull out everything, they could sort through the contents on shore.

MacCready stuffs everything into his bag, whether or not it’s damaged. Fancy Lads, a set of clothes, a headband, shotgun shells, and a tattered note. He doesn’t stop to read it, just wanting to get off the boat before something goes wrong.

He’s maybe less careful getting off the ship, rushing back towards the shore, hearing the planks creak under his feet. He nearly throws himself towards the beach, imagining the boat sinking into the waves behind him, but all it does is rock back and forth from the force of his departure. 

“Did you find the tapes?” Nick asks.

“Yeah, but they’re not tapes? They’re something else.” MacCready dusts at his pant legs, wiping away the stand that clings to the wet patches below his knees. “And found the chest too.”

“We should listen to everything.”

MacCready agrees. 

They find a spot up off the sand to sit and go through what MacCready has found, an old park bench, partially sunk into the beach. They settled on the tabletop and MacCready starts to spread out what he’s pulled from the boat, along with his Pipboy tablet.

Nick picks up one of the storage devices, turning it over in his hands. “Fuck, that won’t fit in your player, will it?”

“No,” MacCready isn’t great with computers, but he knows it’s not a holotape. “Have any idea what it is?”

“Some sort of specialized storage. And if Faraday made it, it’s probably encrypted too. I might be able to hack it, but he’d know. And I don’t have anything to plug it into.” He puts the device down, starting to comb over the things MacCready pulled from the steamer trunk. His hands go for the note first.

MacCready stays quiet while Nick reads, watching his face. Nick frowns deeply before handing the note to MacCready. 

“Seems we’re not the first people to have our suspicions about what’s happening in Acadia.”

MacCready looks up from the note. Whoever wrote this was wary of Faraday in particular. At this point, MacCready doesn’t trust a single one of those Acadia synths. Some of them seem nice enough, but he can’t understand their motivations. From the looks of this note, they can’t understand each other.

“Who wrote this?” MacCready asks.

“I don’t know. Jule gave me that key, after I had talked to Cog. He’s worried about her.” He shakes his head, “She told me that key, this boat, has something to do with her memories. What she can’t remember. Maybe she’s the one who wrote the note.”

“But we looked at Faraday’s terminal…”

“Maybe we didn’t look in the right place. Maybe there’s something more?”

MacCready mumbles under his breath, “What the fu-what is DiMA doing?”

Nick rests his face in his hands, “I heard things, when I was inside his memories. They were encrypted, sealed away so he wouldn't have to remember the things that he's already done. He wants to forget. He wants to forget so badly that he's devised a whole system to erase memories from...himself, and store them.

“Hand me your Pipboy,” Nick holds out his hand.

MacCready passes the tablet over, waiting while Nick goes into his bag. There are tapes that MacCready hasn’t heard yet. They’re the ones from inside DiMA’s memories. While he’s been curious, he hasn’t asked directly, thinking maybe there was...information about Nick, or something Nick was still working out.

The tape plays, broadcasting quietly between them. Nick keeps the volume low. It’s unmistakably DiMA’s voice. He talks about the windmills that keep Far Harbor’s condensers running, that ultimately keep back the fog. The harborfolk are backed into a corner, and those condensers are the only thing keeping the beast at bay. DiMA knows, no, knew the code to shut them off. He knew how to kill everyone. He doesn’t want to know.

MacCready parts his lips, “But he’s the one who wanted to be able to shut off the turbines in the first place?”

Nick nods, “There’s another tape, about the nuclear launch codes for the sub. He could just as easily wipe out the Children of Atom. He has plots for every contingency. And he’s erased all of them. He’s unwilling to bear the burden of knowledge.”

MacCready has his own opinions on DiMA. How he’s an as- a jerk, how he’s a cheat, how NIck shouldn’t be giving him the benefit of the doubt like this. But he also doesn’t want to interfere too much. It’s ultimately Nick’s decision if he wants a relationship with his ‘brother’ or not. MacCready had a family, the one he chose at Little Lamplight. Well, they chose him. He had Lucy. He has Duncan. He has Nick. MacCready knows well enough that sometimes family makes mistakes.

“Fuck,” Nick chuckles, pulling out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one before continuing, “I want nothing more than to remember clearly. And DiMA has this luxury of forgetting things that are inconvenient to remember. I suppose I’m just jealous.”

“What do you want to remember?” MacCready winces once the question is out of his mouth. It’s not a logical one. How can you remember something you’ve already forgotten?

But Nick speaks, “After DiMA told me, about the Institute, how I would scream when I woke up. How many times the wiped me, reprogrammed me...Now I’m starting to think that I remember. I’m starting to think I remember the Institute. But I don’t know if those memories are real, or I just want them to be real…” Nick fades out.

MacCready reaches forward, folding his hand over Nick’s, the metal one, the one that makes it hard to dismiss the fact that while Nick is a person, he’s not human, not anymore. Maybe not ever. He slots his flesh fingers between Nick’s alloy joints and squeezes. It hurts a little, where the metal pricks. “I’m sorry,” MacCready says, because he doesn’t know what it feels like.

Squeezing back, Nick says, “It’s not your fault.”

And MacCready knows it’s not, but he’s sorry anyway. He’s sorry that he can’t decide if this is simple or complicated.

“Bobby,” Nick hesitates, “Sometimes I think I can’t remember Oberland Station. It’s starting to feel cloudy, like a dream.”

Hissing through his teeth, MacCready speaks without really thinking, “But you know it’s real, right? We’re real, you and me. Even if sometimes we have to pretend things are different. You know, right?” And as he speaks, the panic builds in his lungs, he talks and talks until he runs out of air. “You’re don’t going to forget me. Because I’ll be here. I’ll be here and I’ll remind you. I guess until I die. But I’ll...I’ll make tapes, right? And you can listen, and remember.” MacCready chokes, maybe Nick won’t want to remember. Maybe it’s best that he forgets. MacCready manages to stop talking.

Nick responds, “I’m not going to forget you. I won’t let it happen. Just, the memory is fuzzier than it should be. And I like that memory, a lot.”

“Maybe we find someone to fix you,” MacCready can just barely even out his breathing.

“Maybe Doc Amari,” Nick says it like it’s a promise. Once they get back to the Commonwealth. She’s someone they can trust. Talking to her is much better than letting DiMA or Faraday know something is wrong.

“Yeah,” the confidence returns to MacCready’s voice. “The Doc will know what to do.”

\--

One of them has to get back into Faraday’s terminal, but that proves easy enough. MacCready hangs out in their room with the door open, a clear view to the hallway, while Nick slips back into Faraday’s office to hack his computer. There’s nothing more for MacCready to do but wait. If Faraday passes by, MacCready will have to come up with some conversation topic to distract him. But the guy never shows, so they’re in the clear.

Nick slips back into their room, closing the door behind him. His lips are drawn thin. He has MacCready’s tablet in his hands. “I downloaded the files. So we have proof.”

“Proof of what?” MacCready almost doesn’t want to ask.

“That note, it was from Victoria. Victoria was Jule, before she was Jule. When the boat went up, she was heavily damaged. Faraday wiped her memories, but it didn’t go well.”

MacCready sits up, cross-legged on the bed. His hands are shaking. “They never told her?”

“No. Faraday couldn’t fix it. That’s why her mind is such a wreck.”

“They used her,” MacCready grits his teeth, “Faraday used her, DiMA used her, and can’t even be honest about what happened.”

“They think she’s better off, like this. Not knowing.”

“Like he--No, she’s not!” MacCready knows his voice is too loud. It’s not even that he has a particular attachment to Jule. She’s hard to like. Abrasive and frustrated and sometimes downright mean. She just wants to be left alone, but sometimes she’s so incredibly sad. She doesn’t know who she is, not really. They just replaced her. They replaced this Victoria with Jule and they all share the same body and MacCready can’t understand. But even if he can’t understand, he’s finding it hard to accept too. “We have to tell her.”

Nick nods, “We have to tell her where no one else can hear. I think Cog is trying to protect her. He wanted me to report back to him. But she deserves to know. Hell, it’s her damn skull they’ve been messing with.

MacCready wants to go now, but Nick convinces him to wait at least until after dinner. They can’t be found out, they still have business in Acadia. 

\--

Waiting until Jule finishes with her meal, Nick shuffles out first, MacCready waiting a couple more minutes, since he actually has to eat. He's supposed to meet Nick outside, then they’ll come back in and find Jule. 

Once he’s done eating, MacCready heads upstairs and out the main entrance. Nick is smoking on the steps, he puts his arm around MacCready’s shoulders, telling him they better get back inside. MacCready didn’t bring his mask.

They move like clockwork, like partners, watching as Cog heads in one direction, finding Jule still in the common room, flipping through a magazine, never stopping to read anything.

Nick asks Jule if she as a minute. She just scowls as a reply, but gets up off the couch. Stalking across the common room, her behavior must let other synths know something is up. But Nick and MacCready are only concerned with Cog, DiMA, and Faraday at this point. And they’re nowhere to be seen.

MacCready wishes they could trust Chase. She seems to have a handle on the situation here. She seems to have a healthy dose of skepticism too. But her allegiance is still probably to DiMA, they can't rely on her as an ally.

Jule pulls them back behind a row of generators, the sound deafening in MacCready’s ears. But they don't need to speak. Nick hands her the Pipboy, already open to Faraday’s notes. Her brow furrows as she reads them, flipping back and forth between pages with disbelief, her mouth parts slightly, and then she screams.

“FUCK!”

The generators aren't loud enough to have blocked that out. But since it's Jule’s voice, maybe the other synths think nothing of it. How many of them know? How many said goodbye to Victoria and hello to Jule, denying her her own autonomy? 

“That fucking, FUCK, FUCK.”

When she goes to throw the tablet, Nick grabs it out of her hands. MacCready doesn't know what to do, at first. Her face is streaked with tears and anger, but something about her face reminds him of laughter too. Jule covers her face in her hands, “No one told me. No one told me.”

And it just feels right for MacCready to hug her, though he can't remember ever having touched her before. He remembers when he was a kid, having to decide which kids needed to be held, which ones needs to be shouted at, which ones needed to be left alone. All this time, Jule has been left alone.

She's a synth. She must be an Institute synth too, not one of the infiltrators, because she's roughly the same size as Nick and DiMA and Faraday and all the synths who couldn't forget they're synths. So MacCready is kind of small against her. But he holds onto her counting to five and then releasing. He can feel her shaking, but otherwise she doesn't move. But she doesn't push him away either. MacCready lets go on his own, because he figures that's enough.

“What do you want to do?” MacCready asks, but he's not sure she can hear him over the roar.

“I'm leaving.”

Neither Nick nor MacCready are going to try and convince her otherwise.

“Be safe,” Nick holds out his hand for her to shake. She does so with a determined tug of her hand. “I don't know if it means anything to you,” Nick digs around in the pocket of his coat. “But you wrote this, when you were Victoria.”

Jule laughs and laughs, because this is all one great big joke and she's just found out she's the punchline. But she takes the slip of paper without reading it, shoving it into her pocket before walking past them both..

\--

Nick’s gone to speak to DiMA, to try and tease out what information he can before they take their next steps. MacCready doesn’t insist to go with Nick and Nick doesn’t ask for the company. That’s alright, MacCready knows he’s a liability in front of DiMA. He’s too expressive and nervous and ready to jump in when he feels Nick’s getting pushed around. But maybe they need to let DiMA think he’s pushing Nick around. Maybe that’s how they crack this case.

Besides, MacCready has his own ideas of where he might get some additional intel, though his stomach flips just thinking about it.

Faraday might be a synth, but he’s got more human tells than he realizes. And MacCready might not be great at reading people, but Faraday has already opened up to him once.

MacCready knocks on the door to Faraday’s office. While he waits for a reply, he sticks his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, he’s trying to look disarming. He’s not sure it’s working.

Faraday opens the door without a word. He’s still dressed in his labcoat and slacks, even though it’s getting late. He doesn’t look particularly surprised to see MacCready at his door.

“Yes?” he clips.

“Ah, can we talk?” MacCready scuffs his feet, “privately?”

Faraday’s eyes go a little wide and he shuffles MacCready inside. “Could you tell?” He closes the door with a soft click behind MacCready.

Standing in the middle of Faraday’s office, it takes MacCready a second to catch on, because he couldn’t tell at first. But he takes another look at Faraday, his eyes tracing from Faraday’s face, down the line of his coat. MacCready sees scratch marks under his collar. 

“What did he do to you?” MacCready asks.

Faraday smiles, broadly. MacCready wishes he could take the question back, he doesn’t want the details. “I didn’t think he’d agree.”

“Your neck is scratched,” MacCready points out, looking away from where the scrapes are still angry-red. 

His face flushing, Faraday tugs at his collar. “I wanted him to…”

MacCready really doesn’t care one way or another if Faraday is telling the truth. He can’t separate Faraday’s excitement, fear, and hesitance from each other. 

“Listen,” MacCready wants to be able to salvage something from this conversation. “...I know you...want him. But you shouldn’t…” Everything he now knows about DiMA floods through MacCready’s brain. Some of those things Faraday knows, but what of those he doesn’t? “Don’t let him hurt you.”

Faraday frowns, balling his hands into fists. “He’s not. I wanted this,” he uncurls one hand, touching it to his neck. 

MacCready is certain that there are more bruises he cannot see. And yeah, maybe Faraday wants that part. But MacCready doesn’t know how to articulate what he means any better without giving everything away. 

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know…” Faraday moves his hand again, “DiMA is not Nick Valentine. I am not you. I understand that now.”

“I know,” MacCready parrots back. He can’t think of anything more to say. At least now Faraday doesn’t think they have much in common.

MacCready starts to show himself out, reaching around Faraday to touch the door handle. Faraday smells of antiseptic.

MacCready knows he should leave this situation well enough alone, but he’s forgotten to bite his tongue. He’s been having trouble with that since reaching the island. “You know about him, what he’s done, and you still want him?” MacCready leaves what Faraday may or may not know indistinct. 

Faraday only nods.

\--

“I may have messed up,” MacCready admits to Nick, once the latter returns from talking to DiMA.

“Couldn’t have been as badly as I did,” Nick half-laughs. He sits on the edge of MacCready’s bed, running his soft hand over MacCready’s bare thigh. MacCready has already changed for bed. There are spiderwebs of silvery scars up and down both of his arms. MacCready has already resigned himself to keeping them. He’s lucky he’s healed up as well as he has. The miracle of pre-War salvaged medicine. 

“What did you say?”

Nick shakes his head, running his hand higher up MacCready’s leg, almost to the juncture of his groin. “Nothing that will make him suspect. But might make him hate me.”

“We should leave,” MacCready starts, “Not the island, I know our case is still open. But, maybe go visit Far Harbor again. We’ve got a bunch of things on the Mariner’s list, right? I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. And maybe Avery knows something?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

MacCready’s chest loosens a little. It’s not ideal, but it’s a little better than this. At least it’s a change.


	9. Success Smells Good On You. I Smell Better

“Where do you want the crabs?” Nick asks.

They've managed to procure some of the mirelurk carapaces that the Mariner wanted, dragging them back to the Harbor. Once cleaned and dried, they’re not terribly heavy, but they are bulky, twice as wide as Nick and almost as tall as MacCready. The Mariner seems to think that the strength of the shells, compared to their weight, makes them perfect to fortify the Harbor walls. MacCready’s not so sure, but he’s not a builder, by any means.

“Just stack them in the corner,” she gestures over to a mostly-empty nook in her cramped workshop. 

Every available surface is filled with something, her tool benches and crates overflowing. MacCready doesn’t think he’s ever seen the Mariner without grease on her face and dirt under her nails. She’s always working on something. Maybe it keeps her from having that many visitors. She never seems pleased to see them.

Together, MacCready and Nick drag the shells in, stacking them where the Mariner wants. She doesn’t ask for help installing the fortifications and they don’t offer. It wasn’t too much trouble to get her the materials, since they couldn’t go twenty yards without mirelurks crawling up their backsides anyway. Cleaning the recovered shells was a pain, but being on good terms with the Harbor means they have a place to stay that isn’t under DiMA’s thumb.

MacCready’s hands are scraped raw by the time they’re finished stacking the carapaces. He wipes them against his shirt, at least they don’t come back bloody. 

With the condensers up and running, MacCready can walk around Far Harbor without the gas mask, though he keeps it hooked to his belt. He’s never going to feel totally safe now, knowing that DiMA knew how to turn the turbines off. Even if he’s made himself forget, that doesn’t mean he might not suddenly remember, right? Or maybe Faraday knows too.

They bid goodbye to the Mariner, heading over to the bar to look for any additional leads. MacCready feels like the more they learn about the island, the less they know. Like the fog is seeping into the case itself, scrambling up the information they manage to snatch in bits and pieces, until it doesn’t make sense to anyone anymore. At least, it doesn’t make sense to MacCready.

As they’re crossing the pier towards the Last Plank, Teddy, the Harbor’s doctor, strides over to meet them. Each time they’ve been through the Harbor, for medical supplies or directions or just a dry bed, he’s been open and friendly with them. Doesn’t seem to care one bit that Nick is a synth.

“Noticed you’ve been helping out a lot,” unlike most Harbor residents, Teddy clearly talks to both of them, instead of deferring always to MacCready.

Nick stops to chat with him, saying that they’re only trying to be polite. They can traverse the island, going where others can’t.

“Noticed that too,” Teddy smiles, “I think what you’re doing is really great. We’re on top of each other here, and a lot of the harborfolk aren’t used to being so communal. Sharing close quarters? Isn’t the way they were raised.” When the fog wasn’t so thick, people had their own homesteads, spread out across the island. Avery explained all this to them early on. “Point is, there’s something more that can be done, for the spirit of community. And you two are exactly the people for the job.”

“What makes you think that?” Nick is as polite as ever. MacCready can’t help but think how much easier all of this would be if NIck had a human face. How he could charm the pants off of anyone who questioned them. He’d have the Harbor and the Children wrapped around his little finger. 

“Because, and don’t mind me saying this,” he looks to Nick first, “You’ve got the smarts,” then he looks at MacCready, “And you’ve got the skill.” Teddy claps his hands together. “Back in the old days, there used to be this ritual, the Captain’s Dance.” Teddy goes on to explain how by fighting off the biggest, meanest creatures the island could throw at someone, the Harbor would ‘elect’ the new Captain. “Now I’m not saying you should replace Avery. She’s as good a Captain as we could ask for. But a nice, big party? Filled with food and drink and maybe some tall tales? Well, that would make you two popular around here.”

Nick smiles once Teddy has finished explaining the Dance, “You think we want to be popular?”

Teddy pats Nick’s shoulder, “Are you saying you’ve been doing all this work for us out of the kindness of your hearts?”

“Maybe.”

Teddy laughs, “Here, I can mark the location of one of these big bads on your map. Go out there, toss some meat into the water, and she’ll show up. I’ve got to stay in town, got patients to look after, but I’ll send someone along to witness.”

“And if we get eaten?” Nick smirks.

“We know that isn’t happening.”

MacCready grabs his Pipboy from his pack, handing it over so Teddy can drop a marker on their map.

\--

On their way to the swamp, they manage to collect four thick slabs of angler meat, still heavy and wet. MacCready sort of hates how it feels in his hands.

As Teddy promised, one of the Harborfolk meets them there. Shuffling his feet, he says he’s going to keep clear, where he can watch, but won’t run the risk of getting hurt. MacCready doesn’t care, he just wants to put the slimy meat in the water and get out his gun.

“Where are you going to position yourself?” Nick asks MacCready, taking a drag off his cigarette. He’ll finish it before they drop the meat.

MacCready scans the surrounding area. Not too far off is a run-down house, looks like part of the roof is intact. If he could guarantee Nick’s safety, that’s the best position for him to snipe. But Nick needs to be closer to his targets in order for his laser rifle to do sufficient damage. The energy dissipates dramatically, the further away he is. It’s a trade off. 

MacCready knows he doesn’t want to be so far out that when the Queen shows her ugly mug, Nick might be hung out to dry. If something happens to Nick, MacCready has to be ready to jump in, as much as the thought of it makes his skin crawl.

“Okay,” MacCready points to a fallen tree, half in the swamp water, but with the broken trunk sticking up out of the muck. It’s been there for awhile. Below the waterline it might be rotted, but above, it’s petrified. It's only about four and a half feet off the ground at the highest point, but it's about as good a position as MacCready can see. He can already tell he’s light enough that the trunk won't move if he positions himself on top of it. “I’ll be shooting from there. I just need you to keep her attention, and get her facing me. I need to aim for her eyes. And there’s no need for you to keep close. You can turn her around if you need to, but every once in awhile, point her my way.”

“And what about the little ones?” If the Queen appears, she’s sure to bring offspring, or even just other lurks looking for an easy meal. 

“I’ll pick them off when I don’t have a clear shot on her. Your job is to not get killed. Just, run around, stay out of their claws. If you can get off some shots, that’s fine. But I need you as a distraction.”

Something awful churns inside MacCready’s stomach. He doesn’t like giving Nick orders like this. Telling him how, exactly, he’s supposed to put himself in harm’s way. It’s too cold, too clinical, when every nerve inside MacCready’s body is screaming to just keep Nick safe. But this is what MacCready does best. His plan will work. Nick will be safe if he follows instructions. “If it’s too much,” he points towards the house in the distance, “run through the hole in that wall. It will slow them down. I won’t be able to hit them in their backs, but you have to prioritize staying up and moving. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nick nods.

MacCready knows the Harborman in watching. He’s not very far away. And he brought binoculars. They shouldn’t do anything. They’ll be seen. But MacCready can’t help himself, too weak-willed to stop. He comes up on his toes, pulling his mask up to put his mouth to Nick’s. The kiss isn’t brief. There’s no need. Wet on one side, dry on the other. What their witness sees, he sees. 

“Be safe,” MacCready says, pulling his mask back down. He curls his hands around the lapels of Nick’s coat. “I love you.” At least that’s private. The Harborman is too far away to have heard.

Nick looks slightly shocked at MacCready’s admission, but happy enough to have heard it, “I love you too.”

MacCready steps away, getting into position on the tree trunk. It whimpers under his weight, but doesn’t move. Now he must only wait for Nick to drop the meat, for the Queen to arrive. 

The first batch of slimy flesh draws a few mirelurks in, clattering on their lower legs. MacCready picks off one of them before it gets anywhere near Nick, placing a perfect shot into its exposed face. The second gets close enough to swipe, while Nick unloads his laser best he can into its belly. MacCready leaves him to it, sniping the third while Nick bashes in the shell of the second with the butt of his rifle. Neither of them breaks a sweat.

But the carnage awakens something deeper inside the swamp. The Queen starts to stir, but it is her careless young who skitter ahead. MacCready doesn't waste his ammo, letting Nick spread out his laser and blast the younglings. No bigger than a basketball, they barely sting when they bite. 

MacCready keeps his eyes locked on where she should appear, if the sound of her lurching is any indication. But he can't take the first shot either. He needs Nick to get her attention.

In a great thrash, she rises from the water, choked weed and debris rolling down her shell. She chatters like bone smashing against bone, raising herself to her full height. Bigger than any single house, thick and hard, she ruptures abject fear in MacCready’s gut, something primal he can't control. Humans weren't meant to walk the earth with beasts so large.

Nick blasts off two shots, enough to get her to focus on him, then he runs, skipping along the soggy ground as fast as his tattered body will allow.

MacCready breathes steadily, in and out, out and in. He keeps his eye to the scope, waiting for Nick to get her turned around. 

Once her face is visible, MacCready takes his shot, precisely placed to blind her in one eye. His bullet is true, he never doubted.

The Queen’s shriek tosses Nick back, his body splashing in the water. Nick can't swim. Nick can't swim. But MacCready can't leave his position. He has to hope the water is shallow enough. Of course it is. Nick scrambles to his feet, letting out two more shots before darting away. 

MacCready will aim for the other eye when she gets turned again. He has to focus, pushing the worry out of his mind, letting it go with each exhale.

The Mirelurk Queen snatches at Nick, ripping through his coat, scraping something more. MacCready can hear Nick shout, but he doesn't move, keeping his eye in the scope. He won't get another chance. He takes aim. He fires. He doesn't know what Nick is doing.

Screaming, the Queen is still nowhere near defeated, but Nick runs towards the house for cover. He's injured. Surely.

It's futile for MacCready to try shooting at her back. He’ll have to wait while Nick pumps himself full of stims. Should be enough to get moving again. Through his scope, MacCready can see Nick’s feet sticking in the mud as he shreds his way to the hole MacCready pointed out earlier. He darts inside, seconds before the Mirelurk Queen crashes into the side of the building. The force of impact makes the water shimmer, all the way to MacCready’s stump.

Hopefully, she's stupid enough to keep throwing herself at the wooden frame. Maybe she’ll impale herself. MacCready counts out the seconds. If Nick stays inside too long, she'll bring down the whole house on his head. She thrashes with her claws, the house groaning under her mass.

No. No. No.

MacCready has to think of something new. He scans the back of her shell, looking for any fissure he can exploit. He can find none, she's in lovely health. Just their luck.

Nick scatters around the side of the house, his rifle reloaded and his injuries patched. He fires off another round of laser, getting the Queen to lurch away from the house, follow him back out to the swamp.

One more. Into her skull. Maybe, maybe, does he remember his anatomy? MacCready doesn't make a habit of fighting Mirelurk Queens, but he aims. He fires.

This time, she doesn't cry, she dies, tipping forward towards Nick, who dashes, then rolls away before she splashes into the swamp, water cresting high and soaking Nick. It's enough that the water climbs the tree trunk too, encroaching on MacCready’s position.

That's it, they've done it.

MacCready scrambles off the log, running straight to Nick. His hand is already in his pocket, grabbing up a stim he plans on sticking in Nick somewhere. Hopefully, close to wherever he's still injured.

Nick's soaked coat is a lost cause. He shucks it off. His shirt is ripped too, exposing the silvery-gray surface of his chest, already patched and worn away. MacCready knows every divet. The new slashes across Nick’s false pectoral are ragged, torn. MacCready reaches out to touch them, the silicon already cool from having been rendered away from Nick’s heated frame.

“I'm fine,” Nick says.

“Yeah,” because if it's a lie, MacCready doesn't know what to do. This was a horrible idea.

The Harborman stares with wide eyes, mumbling that he’ll tell the others, and they’ll get ready for the Captain’s Dance, back at the Harbor.

“You do that,” Nick forces a smile.

\--

The Dance stretches late into the evening, the residents of the Harbor drunk and ecstatic. Twice as many people as MacCready has ever seen along the docks work their way to the pier, stuffing their faces with roasted Lurk and downing liquor by the bucketful. 

They congratulate MacCready on his achievement, hardly paying Nick any mind. Nick smiles at MacCready’s side, never once correcting them.

“You did kill her, after all,” Nick points out.

“I couldn't have shot her without you. You were the only one in any danger.”

Nick shrugs his shoulders, cigarette between his lips.

Huffing, MacCready takes another sip of his beer. He doesn't quite remember how many he’s had. Enough that the ground spins a little if he steps too fast. But they should be safe enough here, that he can afford to be a little sloppy.

As long as he's not so sloppy that he crawls into Nick’s arms where everyone can see. Or something. 

Captain Avery comes by for the third time that evening. Each time, she's thanked them for this. The Harbor needed it, this solidarity, this camaraderie, to know outsiders are not all bad. This will go a long way to help them all.

MacCready mumbles it was no trouble. It's a polite answer.

Avery looks old enough to be his grandmother. Maybe. But MacCready thinks his grandmother would look really different. It's not a good train of thought. Never leads anywhere productive. 

She smooths her hand over MacCready’s shoulder. “Thank you,” her eyes flick to Nick, “Thank you both.”

\--

“Need you, need you,” MacCready has no idea how loud he is, but Nick shushes him gently. 

“I know, I know.” His hands are already at the hem of MacCready’s sweaters, pulling them both off in one go. “But the walls here are thin.”

They're tucked into their room at the Last Plank. MacCready knows he's drunk. But he can't get the image of Nick’s shredded chest out of his mind. The stimpaks kept Nick from falling, but didn't do enough to stitch him together, leaving his frayed. Flayed.

He pushes Nick towards the bed, clawing at his new shirt, buttons all in place. Though his hands are clumsy from drink, he gets them open, one by one, pushing the shirt from Nick’s shoulders, letting it pool on the mattress behind his hips.

His pants still on, MacCready crawls into Nick’s lap, straddling his hips. He keeps his hands around Nick’s neck, splaying his hands around the back of his skull. Pulling himself up, he presses his chest against Nick’s body, feeling the scrape where Nick’s edges are damaged. Nick feels new, because he's more beaten down than before.

“You could have died,” the words are not quite right, “You're not even really alive, and you could have died.”

MacCready’s desperate, in a way, but not really hard. Feverish with want, but not true desire. 

“I'm here,” Nick wraps his arms around MacCready’s waist, soft and skeletal hands scraping down MacCready’s smooth back.

\--

Supermutants soak up more bullets than they're worth. The Vim! Factory is thick with them, choking up the hallways and crowding the stairwells, as Nick and MacCready make their way down to the bowels of the building. 

MacCready uses a shotgun, which he hates, but it's better suited for the twists and turns of the factory’s interior than his rifle. That, and shells are cheap.

He leads, Nick follows. From DiMA’s stolen memories, they know there is some sort of facility, accessible from the basement.

They find the gate, attached to a functional terminal. MacCready keeps his eyes on the stairwell while Nick punches away at the keyboard. They may have gotten the bulk of the mutants, but they've been less than systematic in carving their path. Muties could creep up from behind at any moment.

A voice resonates from the terminal. “Early prototype, recognized.” The system mistakes Nick for DiMA.

The metal door swings open, Nick heads inside. MacCready follows him, though he's still cautious that something mean could surprise them.

“It can't tell the difference, between you and him?”

Nick shakes his head, “He never considered...that I could make it here,” he pinches the bridge of his nose.

The unmarked grave is obvious, from the size, the gently curved dome. DiMA didn't try to hide it, so sure that his brutal secrets were safe. And, maybe they would have been, if the computer was smart enough to tell him apart from Nick.

They don't even look alike. Not really, not anymore.

Nick digs while MacCready keeps his hold on the gun, his hands sweating against the grip.

A human skull, broken bones, a locket, a holotape. It's what MacCready expected. They knew a body was here, the only question being, whose?

Nick flicks open the locket, then reaches out his hand. MacCready hands him the Pipboy, so they can play the tape.

A woman’s voice crackles on, as the tape begins to spin: “Is it... is it going to be painful?”

DiMA answers, “Yes. It's going to be like having everything you are ripped out and replaced with something else...Someone else.”

MacCready looks away, though the tape is only audio. He swallows thickly. Nick just holds the Pipboy, as if it's fragile in his hands.

“No one else can know. This isn't just about infiltrating Far Harbor. It's about becoming the human that synths drawn here need to meet. Reasonable, willing to accept them as just another living thing. No greater or lesser than humanity itself. You'll be part of the bridge between our two worlds. That all vanishes the moment anyone discovers that it's been manufactured. That you're a synth.”

“Avery,” MacCready can't get his voice above a whisper. “He killed the real Avery.”

Nick nods, passing the still-running Pipboy back to MacCready. He fondles the locket instead. In his metal hand, the chain catches against un-cushioned joints. 

There's more to the tape: “Don't. Please. That blood is on my hands. Not yours.”

MacCready stares at Nick’s hands, because they're here, in the room with him. And DiMA’s bloodied hands are back at Acadia. DiMA, who has wiped his mind, and his palms, clean. 

Nick, who can't remember why his left and right don't match. Who scrapes his exposed, metal digits down the column of MacCready’s spine when they go to bed. Whispering affections in the dark.

Nick is here, he's everything DiMA is not. They've both committed sins, but at least, Nick tries to remember his own, so he can do better, next time.


	10. Oh Come My Love And Swim With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the additional tags.

“Nick?” MacCready rolls from his side, trying to lay on his back. But the bed isn't big enough. He catches himself before he hits the floor, swinging back into Nick’s frame, clutching his hands around Nick’s shoulders.

Nick’s dimmed eyes brighten. He's still warm everywhere. Even though it's summer, the nights in Far Harbor are cool. MacCready doesn't know how he does it, shifting his heat over time so it’s always right.

“Robert?”

“What are we going to do?” his tongue feels fat in his mouth. Like it doesn't fit under the cage of his teeth.

Nick scrapes his hand down MacCready’s back. His thin shirt keeps Nick’s metal fingers from leaving marks. There's something grounding about the pressure.

“We’re going to confront DiMA. Lay out what we know?”

“Give him a chance to defend himself?” MacCready bites with more venom than he intended.

Nick presses his nose into MacCready’s hair. “We need answers.”

“We have answers,” MacCready can't keep his trap shut, anxiety rising in his throat. It's choking him. “What more could he tell us?”

“I know, I know,” Nick’s eyes dim again, “but what other choice do we have?”

“Tell the Harbor? Tell them what he's done,” MacCready hisses.

“And tell the Children of Atom too? Tell everyone at Acadia? Let them tear each other apart?”

“You'd let them go on, not knowing?” MacCready thinks about pulling away, but he has nowhere else to go. “This whole island is fu-in trouble because of DiMA lying. Someone has to tell the truth, that has to be us. You know it has to be us.”

Nick is silent for a long time. “Sometimes, the lie is kinder.”

This time MacCready does push away. The warmth of Nick’s body fades, leaving a chill on MacCready’s skin. He sits up on the edge of the bed, his bare feet planted on the wooden floor. The Last Plank seems to settle around them, creaking low. But maybe it’s just the bed frame.

Nick doesn't sit up, but he trails his hand down the center of MacCready’s back. Then to the top of his neck, again.

“This isn't about the island, is it?” MacCready asks. 

Nick says nothing.

“Do you wish I hadn't told you?” MacCready curls his hands around the sheets bunching up around his hips. “That I never showed you what I found in Winter’s bunker?”

Nick doesn't have to breathe, but MacCready can hear him sigh. “I wonder...if what I did was cowardly.”

“He defended the man who killed your wife.”

“I know. But she's so far away. And the Institute is on our doorstep.” Nick's hand stops moving. “And was she really ever mine? Who am I? I can’t remember her face.”

“You're Nick Valentine,” MacCready states quite plainly. But how can he be more certain than Nick?

Nick laughs softly. It's not entirely appropriate. His arm sneaks around from MacCready’s back to his stomach, yanking him back down to the mattress. “I don't know if I should have left...Weiss will fuck up without me.”

“He messed up with you there, too.”

“Yeah, he did. He will.”

“Forget about him,” but MacCready feels the ache for the Commonwealth too. They need to go back. They're under no obligation to help that pre-War popsicle, but they need to go back. 

“I can't forget him,” Nick admits. 

\--

The Mariner is busy bolting Mirelurk shells to the exterior walls of the settlement. She has to be careful not to split the shells into pieces as she fixes them on top of the existing fortifications. While they're sturdy, they can splinter with the drill.

MacCready has only come to ask her if there's anything else from the island they should keep an eye out for. But he doesn't alert her to his presence right away, watching as she works.

“Why are you staring at me?” She asks, without even looking at MacCready.

She's built like him, like a lot of Wasters. Small and wiry, without any extra width on her shoulders or bulk on her hips. She reminds him a lot of home.

“We’re heading out. Wanted to know if you thought of anything else you needed?”

“Not a thing,” she clips back. Turning from the wall, she wipes her hands against her overalls. She grabs the next shell, paying MacCready no mind at all. 

It’s not until after MacCready takes four steps away, heading back inside the gate to meet up with Nick, that the Mariner says anything more. 

“You’re not as subtle as you think.”

The tops of MacCready’s ears warm. He’s not even sure what she’s talking about. 

\--

NIck doesn’t tell him to stay away, but he doesn’t tell MacCready to stay close either. They hold hands until they reach Acadia’s rotunda. 

Faraday sits in front of one of the terminals, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Chase smokes, taking long drags off her cigarette, her lips quirked around it, like she knows what’s coming.

DiMA smiles at Nick, welcoming him back. He doesn’t acknowledge that MacCready is even there. When he tilts his head, it creaks, metal rubbing against metal. Faraday stops typing, resting his fingers on top of now-silent keys.

“This should be good,” Chase says, putting her cigarette out under her boot. 

They know. They must all know.

“Chase, must you always be so fatalistic?” DiMA frowns, shaking his head. 

MacCready has that .44 on his hip, and his sniper rifle over his back. Nick’s hand is in his. But NIck lets go. MacCready feels like he’s falling backwards into a pit, or something. Something dark and endless, but he’s ready to spring forward, if he has to fight.

Chase would have to go first. She’s the sharpest, the most dangerous. But she’s also less loyal to DiMA. Faraday might fight harder, but he’s soft, untrained. Can synths be called soft? If they can, Faraday is a prime example.

“We want to speak to you, alone,” Nick emphasizes. 

DiMA’s expression does not change. “Chase, Faraday, you may go.” 

“DiMA?” Faraday questions.

Chase says nothing, heading downstairs without a word. Maybe she wants this. Maybe she’s wanted to do this herself. Someone has to hold DiMA accountable. 

“Go, Faraday. I have no reason to be afraid of my brother.”

Nick doesn’t react to that.

Still, Faraday struggles to leave. His hand reaches out, grasping at nothing, before falling to his side. He goes, but he isn’t happy about it.

“It seems a little unfair, doesn’t it, Nick?” DiMA’s gaze settles on MacCready.

“A lot of things are unfair,” Nick comments.

“So what is it you wanted to discuss alone?”

Nick lights his cigarette. It's so affected, MacCready almost hates it. They don't need the dramatic effect. Not now. “You killed Captain Avery. The real Captain Avery. And replaced her with a synth.”

DiMA shakes his head, “I must have thought it necessary…”

“And then you thought it necessary to delete your memory of ever having done it!” Nick's volume rises, his hands balling into fists, he crushes his cigarette. His nerves are so damaged, he doesn’t recoil from the heat. “How many other people have you done this to?”

“I don't know,” DiMA is no louder.

“Of course,” Nick bites, “of course you don't.” His voice softens, “DiMA...if we told them…”

“They would blame Acadia. It would put every synth here at risk. I will not have it,” DiMA says. “There is another way, we can still have peace.”

“Yeah, there's another way, that's for sure.”

MacCready holds his breath. There's no way Nick is going to listen, right? Whatever plan DiMA has concocted, it isn't worth it. It isn't.

“The Children of Atom...their last leader, Martin...he and I were friends.”

Nick interrupts, “Stop right there. Was he one of your replacements too?”

“...I do not know.”

“Fucking hell,” Nick curses.

“But High Confessor Tektus, if we…”

MacCready reaches for his waistband. He’ll shoot DiMA himself. He doesn't care. He doesn't care if Nick will leave him, slit his throat. He doesn't. If Nick is about to listen to what spews from DiMA’s mouth, MacCready doesn't want him anymore.

(That's a lie. But it will make what comes next less painful.)

“No,” Nick stays firm. “Either you're telling the Harbor what you did, or I am.”

“Yes,” DiMA starts, “if I...take responsibility for this, wholly, do you think they will spare the synths here? That is my only concern. That those who have sought shelter here remain unharmed.” The lines in DiMA’s face turn so sharply downward, it's difficult to believe he is at all sincere.

Nick nods, “We’ll make sure they don't. It's them you wronged, DiMA. And they should decide your punishment, not me.”

With that, DiMA’s mouth quirks upwards again, “I suppose you would be too sentimental.” His yellow eyes flick back towards MacCready, “Or cruel.”

\--

They hide DiMA the best they can under layers of blankets and loose fitting cloaks, trying to conceal what he is before the time has come. Heading directly for Avery, Nick doesn't hesitate. Doesn't try to delay the inevitable. MacCready’s gut wrenches, because he's going to have to do at least some of the talking here. Many of the Harborfolk won't listen to Nick, but they'll listen to him. Even if his voice isn't loud enough, even if he stutters.

But he used to be able to do this, when he was a chubby-cheeked kid with too much power and not enough sense. When he was bold and snarky and did everything he could to make sure responsibility didn't flatten him like a pancake. But now he knows better. Now he knows he's capable of being wrong. He's been wrong a lot. People have died, because he's been wrong.

“Avery?” MacCready calls at the door. He can hear her footsteps approach.

She's perfectly put together, as always. “Child?”

MacCready swallows hard, “You need to trust me. Everyone needs to gather on the docks. There's something we need to discuss. Publicly. It's best we only go through this once.”

Her eyes narrow, but she does not deny him. She nods, looking between Nick and the hooded figure next to him. “DiMA?” she asks.

“Yes,” MacCready answers. He wants to say no one here is in danger. But that's a lie.

Pushing past them, she leaves to assemble who she can. Some are out on fishing boats, others braving the fog for supplies. It will be impossible to get everyone in the same place at the same time, but she’ll do what she can.

MacCready, Nick, and DiMA lurk in the shadow of Avery’s house while the crowd gathers. They are silent until Nick speaks, “You know what to say.”

So this will be his task, though it has been Nick’s work. No, that’s not right. They’re partners. MacCready is responsible. He can’t hide from that. He breathes deeply. He knows what to say.

DiMA’s eyes are brighter than he’s ever seen Nick’s. Under the layers of fabric, the glass tubing of his shoulders makes him look even more a beast than MacCready thinks him.

Looking at the assembled public, MacCready decides the time is now. “Take that off,” he says to DiMA, “they should be able to see you.”

DiMA agrees.

The three of them step forward to meet the crowd. Allen Lee is already scowling, cursing loud enough for MacCready to hear, “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“He’s going to talk, you’re going to listen. And then we’re going to have a reasonable conversation,” MacCready counters, his voice strong and even. “Alright, DiMA,” he’s heard the tapes now, his own memories laid bare. He can wind whatever tale he wants, but MacCready has the proof in his Pipboy.

DiMA spreads his arms, showing his empty palms, “I have wrought a great injustice upon the people of Far Harbor...several transgressions, really. I only ask that after I have told you the truth, that you do not turn your anger against those at Acadia. They are innocent, and had no knowledge of my deeds. I acted alone.”

MacCready doubts Faraday is so very innocent. But while they can prove he knew about Jule, they have nothing to connect him to the launch codes, to the kill switch, or to Avery.

“What did you do?” Avery questions, her voice terse.

“Promise first, that no harm will come to them.”

“Bullshit!” Lee shouts. “We can't trust a thing this metal fuck says.”

MacCready growls, “You will leave the rest of Acadia out of this.” Losing the synths will only serve to strengthen the Children of Atom’s position. If the Harborfolk are going to stand a chance of resettling the island, they're going to need those synths to hold the tenuous balance.

“Allen, you will hold your tongue,” Avery snaps. “You have my word. If it is as you have said, and you are the only one responsible, it won't come back on the other synths.”

“I assure you,” DiMA’s voice is as even as ever. “I will not lie to you...I have...killed one of your number. I thought it best, to preserve the peace on the island.”

MacCready sees Lee, out of the corner of his eye, reaching for his gun. But MacCready is faster, he always is, swinging his .44 from his waistband and aiming it at Lee’s skull. “Don't.”

“You'd kill me, over this synthetic bastard?” Lee snarls, “of course you would. Don't think we don't know, synth fucker.”

Blood pounds between MacCready’s ears, constricts in his veins until all he can hear is the roar. They know, they know, everyone knows. But his hand doesn't move. “Lower your gun. Justice will be served, but you're not the Captain.”

“Fuck this,” Lee stomps off, his boots heavy against the wood, rattling MacCready’s teeth. He stays on alert, expecting Lee to turn back at any moment, level threats or bullets in their backs.

“There is more,” DiMA continues, “the one I killed, I replaced with a synth. I'd thought it best.”

Avery stands stone still. MacCready wonders if she knows. If somehow, she always knew. “Who?”

Before DiMA can answer, MacCready interrupts, “It's not important. Not now.”

Avery frowns. “The punishment for murder, which you have freely admitted to committing, is death.”

“I am well aware,” DiMA concedes. 

Taking her gun from its holster, a pretty, engraved 10mm, Avery asks, “Are there any objections?”

No one speaks. This is how it ends.

MacCready wonders about the gun, perhaps a family heirloom, for the Avery in that grave beneath the Vim! Pop Factory. Is she so very different than the one standing on the docks?

Just because MacCready can remember, does that make him real?

Avery raises the gun to DiMA’s forehead. Her feet planted firmly, hips square, she pulls the trigger. 

DiMA crumples to the ground, a mass of limbs and wires. Even like this, his body is in better shape than Nick’s, smoother skin, fewer holes, even with the new one between his eyes. All those terminals, back at Acadia...is DiMA really gone? There are too many unanswered questions. And MacCready is so, so tired.

It takes aching seconds before DiMA’s eyes go dark.

Nick shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, turning from the scene. The air smells like salt and rot, as the tide recedes. They can go home now, to the Commonwealth. Their obligations here are done.

Walking away without a word, Nick leaves MacCready behind in the aftermath.

No one bothers with DiMA’s corpse. No one mourns. Avery turns from the scene, though her eyes hang heavy in her skull. She deserves to know. But in front of the crowd, emotions already high, wasn’t the time. MacCready will find the time.

He follows her back to her home. Behind them is a splash. MacCready is fairly certain it's someone pushing DiMA’s corpse into the harbor. MacCready thinks about the scratches down the line of Faraday’s throat.

“Do you want coffee, child?” Avery asks, pulling the pot from the stove.

“No,” MacCready’s stomach feels rougher than the waves. 

She prepares her coffee, black, with a little sugar. The cup is in perfect condition, not a chip in sight. There will never be a perfect time.

“It's you.”

Avery finishes her sip. “I don't feel any different. Should I?”

MacCready shakes his head. He doesn't know.

“Are you one of them?” She's so tired.

He’ll never see this woman again, so he finally admits, “I don't know.”

\--

It takes MacCready longer than it should to find Nick, stalking around one of the abandoned homes, just inside the perimeter of the fog condensers. The homes here are too wrecked to be put to use. But if the Harborfolk stay pinned in, they might level the houses, start again.

“Nick?”

He doesn't answer. 

“Nick?”

“What?” he finally responds. Nick has opened the collar of his shirt, lost his hat, somewhere. He looks smaller, more narrow, without his coat. They haven't managed to find a replacement.

“Are you okay?”

A gulf stands between them, a cliff MacCready fears. Either he falls in, or Nick catches him on the other side, once he steps from the edge. But if Nick doesn't reach, the drop will kill him.

Really, it's just a few feet of dead space, floorboards that will never rot, laid before Nick Valentine was his.

“No, Robert, I'm not okay.”

MacCready realizes, he's the one with the lifeline. Nick's already down the crevasse.

“I never imagined having a family...now he's gone. He was a fucking piece of shit. But he was my brother. No matter how much I fought the truth. And now, he's gone.”

MacCready isn't naive enough to think there is anything he can say.

It doesn't stop him, “I'm your family.”

Nick smiles, dropping his shoulders.

\--

Kasumi goes home. Accepting that she'll never know for sure if she's a synth, or not. But she knows she loves her parents, synth, or not. So she goes.

Nick and MacCready go to Diamond City, because it's where Nick feels most at home. MacCready can't go back, can't go home, so he accepts Nick’s in its place.

The agency is as always. Ellie’s desk is organized and tidy. Nick's is a mess. There are new cases pinned to the wall, sorted by priority. Ellie would have gone home hours ago. It's late. It's dark.

Nick grabs MacCready’s wrists, holding them tight enough they start to numb. There's no reason to fight the pressure. Nick’s mouth goes to MacCready’s neck, voice rumbling with desire, “Want you,” because for Nick it's never a need. But the want is there, the curl of lust, motions, pleasures he can remember, places along his frame where sensation still runs. MacCready wants to touch him, but Nick won't give him his hands.

As Nick backs him against the wall, knocking loose one of the case files, MacCready lifts his weight off the ground, using the solid plank behind him to help support his weight, he wraps his legs around Nick’s straight hips, as Nick moves his hands from wrists to waist.

Mouths unrelenting, MacCready gasps into Nick’s affections. Nick is dry, but warm to the point of scalding, his movements too much friction, nothing but heat.

“We should go to bed,” Nick suggests, grinding his hips between MacCready’s thighs. “I've been waiting so long to hear your voice again.”

MacCready groans, giving Nick what he wants, throwing his head back against the wall with a dull thud, exposing his neck so Nick can nuzzle against it. He feels the flat backs of the pushpins stuck in the corkboard dig into his skin. “Could be loud right here.”

Nick smiles against MacCready’s neck. “Should I fuck you over my desk? Pound into you until the floorboards shake? You'd like that.”

MacCready pants, “Yes, yes, yes,” because the heat and friction rolling off of Nick’s body is enough to get him keyed up and ready for anything.

When Nick pulls him away from the wall, MacCready has to drop his feet to the floor. He wraps his hands around Nick’s thin arms holding tight while Nick walks him to the desk.

The desk is messy, but not so much there isn't space when Nick spins him around, pushing MacCready’s chest to the table top, hands busy with his leather belt.

MacCready reaches to open the drawer, he's pretty sure they left lube in there. He wants Nick’s fingers inside him, curling, filling, fucking, until he's weak-kneed and satiated. 

“Stay right there,” Nick huffs dry against MacCready’s ear. He wasn't planning on going anywhere. Shifting his weight, his still-covered cock rubs against the edge of the desk. It's not enough.

Nick steps away, rummaging through his bag behind MacCready’s back. MacCready starts to turn his head before Nick repeats, “I said stay.”

MacCready doesn't want to admit how good that sounds. He leaves his cheek against the cool metal of the desk, letting his eyes flutter closed. He spreads his feet apart, just a fraction more.

Nick’s hands are in MacCready’s waistband again, this time yanking down his pants. Nick grabs the lube from where MacCready left it. Though MacCready doesn't move, he can tell Nick took off his shirt, the edges where his coating is torn rougher than the rest of him.

One slickened finger slides inside MacCready, past the hint of resistance that doesn't fade. Nick rucks up MacCready’s shirt, exposing his back to the open air. Nick circles his finger, pulling lightly at MacCready’s rim, before sinking deeper. MacCready starts talking, because he knows it's what Nick likes best. “Yeah, just like that,” he rolls his hips back, “do me like--” and then he feels it, cool and smooth and large, right at the height of Nick’s groin, tapping at MacCready’s bare thigh. MacCready turns his head, so his nose presses against the desk. “Oh...oh…”

“You ruined the surprise,” Nick teases, curling another finger in. “Is this right? How I should open you up for my cock?”

MacCready nods. “Yeah, use three fingers.”

“You're not ready.”

“I am,” MacCready knows he's ready. He wants it. This is fun. He's hard, just thinking about the thickness of Nick’s false cock pushing into him.

Nick draws soft circles on MacCready’s back with his other hand, soothing invisible tension as he slides the third finger in, plush and silicone. The phallus feels much the same as it swings slightly against MacCready’s inner thighs. 

Nick works him open bit by bit, and it's enough, really, that if MacCready reaches for his cock, he could bring himself off with ease. But he waits for Nick’s cautious question. “Now?”

“Yes,” MacCready confirms, “Now.”

It's more than MacCready has had in a long time, rounder and thicker and all at once, pushing into him, stretching him differently than Nick’s fingers. The cock warms with his body heat, with Nick’s stuttering functioning. It holds him open. Nick holds him open.

He reaches his hand between his body and his desk, stroking himself in time with the thrust of Nick’s hips, gaining confidence and speed. Nick remembers, even if his body is different. He curls his hands around MacCready’s hips, holding him in place as he rides into MacCready’s body. A constant stream of, “Yes, yes, please,” ringing between them.

There will be bruises on MacCready’s skin, scratches where Nick lacks cushioning. They’ll bloom beneath his clothes for days. Maybe, if his shirt rides up, Nick will see the marks he’s left. He’ll remember this. 

MacCready will remember the gentle burn of Nick inside him, the scrape of Nick’s chest against his back as he pushes inside. Keeping him beautifully full.

MacCready clamps down on the phallus as he comes, shooting his cum onto the floor and desk. Once Nick pulls out MacCready scrambles, flipping over so he can pull Nick down. He whispers affirmations, that it was so, so good. Nick smiles, saying it was good for him too, to see Robert so wrecked and ravaged.

\--

MacCready’s quiet, making his way back upstairs to the bed from Nick’s cramped bathroom. 

He can hear it in the darkness. The sound of his own voice. It's the holotape he made, on the trip back from Far Harbor, when Nick thought he was sleeping, he’d whispered into the microphone. He wanted to give the holo to Nick. But it sounds as if he's already found it. It winds through the spindles of the Pipboy.

Though he's still on the bottom rung of the ladder, barely able to hear, he knows each word by heart. He was careful in their choosing.

“Nick? It's me, Robert. I wanted to make this tape for you, for us. So you won't forget. And I won't either.

“We had killed Conrad Kellogg, a mercenary working for the Institute, earlier in the day. There was still the reddish tinge of his blood on your hands, because you had to...we traveled to Oberland Station, one of the Minutemen’s settlements, to make camp for the night. The sun had already set, but the fires were still going.

“You, me, we walked out to the edge of the settlement, right where the darkness started. I think I already knew then...that I...you kissed me. I kissed you. I thought it would be strange. But it wasn't. 

“I don't want to forget. It wasn't strange.

“Nick, I love you so much.

“Don't forget.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading and coming on this second story arc with these characters! Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated.
> 
> you can also find me on [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


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